Peaches
by hyacinthgirl18
Summary: Though they'd been lab partners all year, Bella & Edward had yet to study the chemical connection between themselves. A brief but intense encounter changes everything before they separate, though. Plot Bunny Contest Entry. M for fruity situations.
1. Chapter 1

**ENTRY FOR THE PLOT BUNNY CONTEST**  
**Story Name: **Peaches  
**Penname: **hyacinthgirl18  
**Rating: M**  
**Word Count (not including header/author's note): **9,812  
**To see other entries in the Plot Bunny Contest, please visit the following C2: **(remove the spaces and add another / after http: b/c for some reason ff. net deletes one)  
**http:/www . fanfiction . net/community/Plot_Bunny_Contest/82048/**

**Prompt: **(it's a picture and this is the link—follow same modifications as above—One Night Only) **http:/weheartit . com/entry/3042071**

_Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns any and all Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is the author's original work and property. Copyright 2010 by hyacinthgirl18. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without the author's express written authorization, for that would be plagiarism and, as such, is deeply frowned upon._

- x-

_Peaches  
_by hyacinthgirl18

-x-

"Hey, Peach."

I turn to glare at my advanced chemistry partner. "My name is _Bella_, pronounced just like the letter. It's not too difficult." God, what a jackass. It's the last fucking week of the school year, and he's still calling me Peach or Peaches every time he deems it acceptable to speak to me.

Edward smirks at me, and I wonder if he expects me to swoon so hard I'll fall off of my lab stool. Any other girl would. If I'm being honest, sometimes I actually come close to acting out my mental image, usually when I'm in a fairly oblivious mood and he catches me by surprise.

"So?" he asks. "You don't like your nickname?"

"You don't know me well enough to give me a nickname," I tell him, again. "And Bella _is _a nickname." This conversation mirrors itself repeatedly whenever he opens his mouth in my direction.

Normally, this is the point at which he'll turn from me with a little knowing smile and I'll fume for the rest of the period wondering what the hell he's so smug about. But today, he turns to face me further on his stool and I copy him, surprised and open to seeing where this deviates to. Changes in our routine are few and far between, but… usually interesting, at least.

"But everyone calls you Bella. Peach is special. We've been lab partners all year, so I know a bit about you. And, even if I don't know you well enough by your standards, I'd like to." The sound of his words sweeps over my skin like leaves in the fall, natural and beautiful and distracting as they whirl along down the street in the wind.

"What?" I ask, staring at him once more.

Edward grins at me, his elbow coming to rest on the table as his left hand drops to his kneecap between us. He leans his head against his right fist and looks me over. His gaze is so heavy I actually imagine I can feel it against the skin of my waist. I fight back a full-body shiver.

Holy hell, no wonder all the girls sleep with him so quickly. He's totally mastered the art of melting us, with that voice and those eyes and his words and the pretty, pretty lips under his twice-broken nose and hair that defies all polite rules of the hair society…

I decide I like the way he's paying attention to me now. I wish he'd done so long before.

"Are you going to Mike and Jessica's joint party tonight?" he asks, politely ignoring my brainless query. "It's the last before all the grad parties hit next weekend."

"Uh…" My usual negative answer crawls up my throat to the tip of my tongue before I catch it and shove it back down. Is he going? If he is, I might make an appearance, mostly to ogle from a corner and gossip with Kate. "Maybe. Depends on what else is going on," I answer instead of the simple 'no.'

_What__ about __you_? I want to ask. _Are __you __going?__Please__ tell__ me,__please.__I'll__ decide __when __I__ know__ about __you. __Why __the__ fuck__ else__ would__ I__ go __anyway? __Why __the __fuck __else __would __you_ ask_ if__ I__ was__ going?_

"From what I've heard, it's slim pickings." He shrugs, glancing up toward the front of the classroom. It's finals week for the rest of the school, but we seniors took ours early so our grades and clearance cards could be signed and turned in before graduation. The class chats amicably, excited for the summer, and college after that, and real life outside of this glass cage—the cage perched on the edge of the counter just waiting to be pushed off to shatter and free the anxious specimens inside. Mr. Banner ignores us all, talking with another student at the front of the room.

"Oh," I say noncommittally. He still isn't looking at me. Maybe our conversation is over. Fine. Doesn't bother me one bit. I turn around on my stool, bending over to pick up my backpack and retrieve my iPod, but I almost jump off when I feel his fingers softly brush along the sensitive strip of skin showing between my jeans and shirt.

I sit up again, slowly, and look over at him. His eyes are trained on my face; he's leaning toward me, his hand braced on the edge of my stool, so very close to my thigh now. It seems to hum with energy, his hand, his face, his body in such close quarters. I wish I could actually breathe right now so I could smell him, but I'm frozen in his grasp.

"I don't often see you out and about, Peach. I think tonight's the night you should vary your routine. I'll change mine if you change yours."

My eyes widen as electric energy travels down my spine, through my nerves, until it's brushing just under my skin, everywhere, alive and lethal and thrilling. He lifts his eyebrows quickly before bringing them back down to rest above his intense eyes. It's a challenge.

"Fine, I'm in," I blurt before I can think better of it.

Edward smiles victoriously, removing his hand and drawing back to his side of the table before he pulls out a pencil and a yellow legal notepad.

I watch him for a moment as he begins doodling aimlessly, stunned, and finally pull my iPod out, turning it up to drown out my now-panicking thoughts. I'll let myself be distracted by 'Raw Sugar' and ignore the gorgeous boy sitting to my right. I can't afford to freak out about what this might mean.

At least, not until I see him later.

-x-

I kind of have a theory.

It goes like this: when they enter high school, the boys of our town make a pact. By the end of the summer after graduation, every single person in their class will have had the opportunity to lose their virginity. I've since wondered if they'd written out a list of names and passed it around for the guys to lay claim to certain girls first.

In all honesty, it's a little bit of a kindness. It does, at least, prevent that awkward hump in college some people have to get over. You know, so you could just enjoy sex and relationships in college and real life instead of worrying about losing your virginity. The boys here had, gallantly, covered it for you.

I've had three guys proposition me.

Sophomore year, Mike Newton propositioned me during French II. He thought he was being smooth by doing it in the world's most 'romantic' language. I'd turned him down because he was gurgling at me and I could barely understand him anyway.

Halfway through junior year, Jacob Black had asked me out. We'd gone to the movies, to dinner, hung out a few times, made out, fondled a little… and then he'd asked to go all the way. I'd told him I'd think about it and we continued fooling around. Finally, after about six months together, it'd happened. Goodbye, hymen; hello, summer of sex. But then I found out his family was moving away, so it had been a stupid decision because I'd become emotionally attached. I figured out later that I was more attached before the sex, just hysterical over losing a friend and the awesome feeling of a shared orgasm.

By the time Alec Sena asked me senior year, I was curious to know how many guys had circled my name on the list I imagined had been passed around at the end of eighth grade or beginning of freshman year. At least Jake had the decency to take me out and get to know me first, rather than walking up on the first day of school and point blank telling me to meet him in the janitor's closet during third period to fuck.

Yeah, no, I'd punched Alec and wound up footing his hospital bill for the broken nose. My dad was rather pleased with my reasoning for that one, so I hadn't even gotten in trouble.

I'm sure that tonight, I'll get my fourth offer. Except this time, it's from someone I actually _want_. Edward Masen. God yes. My world might flip over tonight.

At least, that's what I assume as I get ready.

It's a well-known fact that Edward is a one-night-only kind of guy. He isn't begrudged this, because, in a town this tiny, the teenagers are well aware that sex is pretty much the only distraction from the monotony of school, work, friends, school, church, work, friends. They've mastered the art of fucking, and, from what I observe, do it because they're bored with the rest of their lives.

Edward's a good distraction from boredom, if one listens to locker room talk or the gossip chain.

I guess I'll find out tonight whether it's true or not. To be honest, I'm _hoping_ to find out, though, judging by the snakes coiling in my belly, the whole idea of it makes me nervous. After all, it's been a while since Jake moved, and it's not like I've kept in practice with anyone else. Rumor has it Edward doesn't leave a girl wanting, in any way, which makes me wonder how uncomfortable I'll be tomorrow, what the ache will feel like again.

Kate and Garrett, her boyfriend of two years, agree to pick me up at my house around nine-thirty. My parents think I'm going to the movies with them before we come back to Kate's, where we'll be staying the night. They don't mind. They trust me and school doesn't start tomorrow until midday for seniors, because all we have is graduation practice.

And, really, I think my mom would rather me be with Edward Masen than sitting at home rereading _The__ Deathly__ Hallows_ anyway, as long as we're safe. Dad's a different story, so I'm sure she's helped make my excuse believable. She's got my back here, my mother.

Part of the reason I never go 'out' is that I never know what to wear. Jeans are my standard, but most girls wear skirts or dresses in the hopes that it'll draw the guys to them, not to mention flaunt their easy-access. Usually I scoff at them, but tonight I'm taking a page from their little black books. Hence the brown dress hanging over my desk chair and the black thigh-high stockings already half-pulled up.

My phone buzzes steadily on my bed and I rush forward to snag the dress, yanking it down over my hair and grabbing my phone and chapstick to deposit in my bra. I shove my feet into the calf-high boots Kate bought me for Christmas before bounding down the stairs.

"Bye, Mom, Dad! Love you!"

"Keep your phone on and be safe!" my dad yells back as my mother calls, "Have fun, honey!"

Smiling at their differing responses, I fly out the front door, jumping the porch steps and stumbling a little as I reach for the rear passenger door of the white car in my driveway.

"Hey," I huff as I fall into my seat. "Sorry about the wait."

Kate turns in the front seat to look me over. "Damn, Bella, you'd look good if you weren't investing in Edward Masen's hair style. I know you want him tonight, but you don't have to _look_ like him."

"What?" I lean forward over her shoulder to pull down the visor and check my hair. "Oh, fuck, give me a brush."

Garrett laughs as he backs out of the driveway. "It's kind of good, actually. Gives guys the impression that you've just been thoroughly fucked, which makes them want to give you a try."

I snort as Kate smacks his arm.

Garrett ends up taking us to the diner to have dinner before the party, which basically means he pays for a chocolate milkshake for me and a plate of fries for Kate. I never pass up milkshakes, especially when I don't have to pay.

We occupy our booth in the corner until ten-fifteen before unfolding ourselves and heading back to the car to drive to Jessica's house on the other side of town. It's a little intimidating to arrive. I can see Katie cackling wildly against the tree in the front yard while Tyler rolls on the grass at her feet, a small red cherry in the dark the only visible sign of the blunt they're sharing. Mike stumbles around out front with a beer in hand, shooing people back into the house or to the back yard. The bass from the music is audible already, and I groan. That it's this bad at the beginning... I can't even imagine it after another hour has passed.

What the hell does Edward Masen find interesting about this shit, anyway? Is he really such a cliché? Honestly, I think half the reason he's so appealing is that he seems more alluring than the Department of Mysteries had to Harry Potter. That may have been because we rarely have a true unscripted conversation. And I may have actually once admitted to Kate that bad boys turned me on, and mysterious guys, and guys with nice hands—all character traits of Edward. I must have given more credit than deserved though, because it now appears that he's the stereotypical high school boy interested in getting crunk and screwing some lucky girl's brain out.

Still, I half-hope I'm the lucky girl tonight, maybe the last of his high school career. That would be a title I had no problem claiming for my own: Bella Swan, the Last Girl Edward Masen Ever Fucked in High School.

Unless some bitch went down on him during graduation practice tomorrow, or he took someone in a janitor's closet on the morning of the ceremony. That would suck—maybe literally.

I sigh as Kate and I step out of the car, leaving Garrett to find a safe parking space around the corner and down the street. We wait on the sidewalk, waving to the other partygoers and talking about our expectations for the night. I spend most of the conversation covertly searching for Edward's tall, lean form and playing with the bottom of my dress.

Jane Sena, Alec's younger sister, finds us waiting for Garrett to return. She hugs us each, smiling shyly. Kate had been her babysitter when she was younger, and she hero-worships me for breaking Alec's nose. Siblings are funny creatures, I've decided.

She's still with us, hovering anxiously away from the boys playing tackle on the front lawn, when Garrett returns, laughing at something Emmett Cullen is saying. My stomach jumps a little, playing hopscotch between my bounding heart and the excited fluttering below. Emmett spent four years being courted by the football coach at school because of his size, but he'd turned him down every year, preferring to teach the summer and fall youth soccer leagues with his dad. He's a cool guy, though we've rarely spoken to each other.

The only reason I'm interested in his presence is that it's usually followed by Edward's. Sure enough, as I crane my neck to see around Kate and over Garrett's shoulder, I see the light from the party glinting off of Edward's hair.

Garrett breaks off from them and heads toward us. I lean back behind Jennie to watch Edward and Emmett jump up the steps to the front door. Edward pauses under the porch light and glances over his shoulder. Our gazes meet and hold for a moment before he lifts his eyebrows and smirks at me. He's gone a second later, his black t-shirt disappearing into a crowd of people.

I swallow harshly and turn back to my friends, flushing when I find them all gaping at me.

"Bella, if you're just going to lust after him all night and drown us out, maybe you should just go do what you so obviously want to. Licking him from head to toe is probably more fun than staring and wishing you were," Jane ventures.

They all laugh at my expense, and I sneer at Kate. "I wouldn't go all the way to his toes, bitch. I'd be happy to stop halfway down his body, where I'm sure he'd have the most fun too."

Garrett slings an arm around my shoulders and starts to walk me inside, leaving the giggling bitches behind us. "You'll be fine, Bella, just don't freak out. Act normal." I snort, and he grins down at me. "I know, it'll be hard to fake it, but you have to try anyway if you want your mouth anywhere near Edward Masen or any of his parts. Now, go get me a beer, will you?"

I groan again, pushing away from him. "_I'm _not your girlfriend. I bet she'd be happy to get you a beer, but the only reason _I'm _going to the kitchen is to get one for myself."

"Fine," he sniffs, turning me loose. "See if I do you any more favors."

'1977' by Ana Tijoux breaks over the stereo system as I walk in, grinning at Jessica as a hello. Though I don't really care to understand the Spanish lyrics, I like the song well enough. Like most Latin songs, it makes me want to dance or grind up against somebody. Preferably Edward.

I wind through the people, listening to the laughter and chatter and panting and music, feeling the music in my feet and the pads of my fingers and my hips. Halfway through the center of the party, I feel his gaze on me and pause, staring around as I try to locate him. I'm suddenly in the eye of the storm, everything around me fading but the beat in my bones and the fire racing through my veins as I find my mark.

He's leaning against the wall, nursing a beer thoughtfully and staring at me with those intense eyes, hooded by shadows and lust. I've never understood how he can appear so passionate when he's only been living eighteen years. Those eyes are the kind I read about in the smutty books my mother leaves lying on the kitchen counter. They light me up from the inside out, my body responding to a simple touch of his gaze as if his fingers are running just under the edge of my skirt between my stockings and my thighs. I want his fingers there, higher, everywhere. Just _on_ me.

Edward tips his beer at me in a salute and shrugs away from the wall. I swallow harshly and begin moving again, keeping to my original path toward the kitchen. Fuck if I need liquid courage. Or something to make my knees stop shaking and my thighs stop pressing. I _really_ want to dance up against him right now. Like, crazy want. I blame the music. And his hands. Maybe his shapely hips.

Tanya and Irina are manning the buckets near the fridge. I grin in relief. "Hey, Ta, 'Rina. Can I get a Smirnoff Ice Triple Black?"

Tanya jumps over the bucket to hug me. I laugh and embrace her. They'd graduated last year, but we'd been great friends before. Now they're roommates in the city, probably home to watch their cousin graduate with us this year. "Isabella Swan!"

Irina rolls her eyes, shaking her head even as she smirks at me. "What are you doing here? I don't recall you coming out often and doubt you've changed much." Irina has always been blunt, something I love about her even though it often leaves me flustered. There's never any guessing required in our friendship.

I flush and look over my shoulder after Tanya lets me go, checking our company. Ta gasps and her hands fly to cover her mouth. Dramatic to the last. "No way!"

Irina stares at her for a moment before her mouth drops open too. "Oh my fucking God. You and… who?" Her gaze turns shrewd. "Who are you out to devour tonight, mon amie?"

I shake my head, smiling as my not-so-secret sings through my bloodstream as I recall the heated look he had sent my way just moments ago. "Are you going to give me my drink?"

She scoffs, calls me a brat in French, and digs through ice in the proper bucket for my drink. "There. Now don't come back for another unless you're willing to spill details. Because keeping them to yourself is a bitchy thing to do," she scolds.

I laugh and reach out to hug her over the buckets, carefully keeping the cold bottle from the bare skin of her back. "Edward Masen," I whisper in her ear.

Irina's eyes remind me of an anime character as they widen in a laughable way and Ta immediately leans in to ask what I'd said as I walk away.

The lime-flavored alcohol hits my throat and instantly cools my face down. Though the dress I'm wearing is sleeveless and ends mid-thigh, all of the partiers dancing throughout the house have upped the heat to an almost uncomfortable level, and my flush from the look Edward had given me had done the rest.

Felix Respin and Chelsea Whitnox stand nearest the kitchen table—they pause to wave at me before going back to their verbal foreplay. I pout. I want foreplay. Now.

_Horny__ slut_, my mind chides. I shrug it off with another swig from my bottle.

Kate, Garrett, and the rest of the group have finally made their way inside. As expected, Kate and Garrett are in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, grinding away to something I recognize vaguely. I laugh and make my way to them, jumping through the chorus and wondering where the hell my nightly-grinding partner is. I hope he hasn't chosen some other bitch, because I will take no little pleasure from cutting her if he has.

Fucker better find me soon or I'm going to explode, and it will _not _be pretty.

Tingles creep up my spine, starting somewhere in the vicinity of the bottom of my dress, on the backs of my thighs, before rising slowly, the way water rolls to a boil. By the time it reaches my shoulders, I have casually turned while swinging my hips around, letting the electric feeling travel down the length of my front again, reveling in the sensations it brings to life.

Edward is making his way through the bodies toward me, and I keep my gaze locked on his the entire journey, until he stands inches away, his hands almost roughly closing around my waist to turn me so my back is pressed against him.

Oh, God, to be touched by him. He's warm, smooth but hard, and he smells like alcohol, cinnamon, and sweat.

"I like your dress, Peach," he mouths against the hot skin of my neck.

I shudder and press myself back against him. "Bet you'd like it better on the floor," I tease, nudging against him.

He laughs a little, and I frown. That hadn't been the reaction I was trying for. I wanted more of the 'fuck yes, let's leave already or I'll take you on the floor' response. "Take it easy, girl, we've got all night. And believe me, it will definitely meet the floor later if I have anything to say about it. For now, just feel."

Is this his version of foreplay? I wonder if I should tell him I'm ready and rearing to go, then decide it wouldn't make any difference to him. This is his game tonight, and I'm a willing player as long as we both win later.

It feels so strange to be surrounded by him—his heat, his scent, his voice, his body. Everything else fades to grays while he shines a bright red behind me, his warm glow highlighting the lines of my own body, sharing himself and all that he is with me in this solitary moment. I feel his equal here as we dance, my nerves shot to hell by either my now-empty Smirnoff bottle, still clutched in my fist, or the almost familiar way his hands feel around my waist and on my hip.

He is strong and potent, and I am both beautiful and seductive in his arms, powerful. It makes me feel as if he's simply catering to my needs instead of taking advantage of me to get lucky, as if he's just as physically attracted to me as I am to him. I don't feel like a silly teenage girl anymore, but more like the object of this man's desire. He makes me want it more than I ever have before, just by raking his knuckles up my ribs before running them back down to my thigh and curling his fingers around it.

His face is buried against my neck, one of my hands clutching his on my waist and the other running through his damp hair. Our hips undulate together in the semi-darkness, one creature separated only by thin barriers of cloth.

I don't count the number of songs during which we stick to one another; I don't care. Edward had stranded us in the isolation of eternity the moment his skin contacted mine.

-x-

"You taste like lime," he breathes against my ear. "It's the wrong fruit."

I shiver against him and pull back, panting slightly, running my tongue over my swollen bottom lip. "It was the Smirnoffs," I tell him, letting my hands fall from his soft hair.

He grins at me and leans forward to press his lips lightly against mine; even this small contact after our heavy activity before sends an excited zing through my body.

"Why do you call me Peach, anyway?" I ask as I lean back against the wall in our corner of the kitchen, trying to regain perspective. I'm not sure I can handle anymore of his kisses right now—he tastes too good, knows too well how to use his tongue with mine. The intensity between us is dangerous, a lightning storm ready and waiting to spark destructive wildfires at any second.

He's pressed against me, a beer in one hand and strands of my hair still wrapped in the other.

He smiles that smile I've memorized, the one that seems to mock me for not knowing, the one smugly protecting his secret as he shakes his head. "I'll tell you later. I only spill after."

I laugh at his implication and lift an eyebrow. "It's not so you don't forget my name during the sex, then? Because that's what I've always thought pet names were about."

He snorts into his beer. "Charming."

I shrug and reach for his hand, using it to pull the beer to my lips. He watches me with heavy eyes and I slowly release him, licking my lip a little as the cool liquid runs down my throat. I really do hate beer. "Isn't it true, though?"

Edward rolls his eyes and looks over his shoulder. "Okay, you see that girl, the one in the pink sweater?" he asks, pointing with his bottle. I glance over at her, recognizing her as Claire Daniels.

"Yeah?"

"I call her Alligator, Alli for short." I snort, but shut up when he shoots me a semi-amused, semi-cautious look. "Because she was wearing alligator-skin heels when she propositioned me."

"Do you know her real name?" I ask, getting more comfortable against the wall and inadvertently pushing my hips further into his. I watch, fascinated, as he swallows and his throat moves sensuously. I've never thought a throat could be sexy.

"Starts with a C, I think, or a K. See her?" Edward gestures at Heidi Forsenski. "She's Pillows, because her bed is covered in them and her boobs were soft."

One of my eyebrows rises. "So why am I Peach, then? How does my name make sense? And I thought you only nicknamed the sluts you nailed or planned to nail, so why me, even back at the beginning of the year?"

"You do know you're obligated to include yourself in the slut category after tonight, don't you? By your standards, anyway," he points out, avoiding the question and smirking again, pressing forward until he's flush against me, the rest of our bodies aligned. His thighs are muscular against my own soft ones, his stomach flat and toned, his chest firm and wide. And then there's the hard-on pressing into my abdomen. He feels… like I'll definitely enjoy myself later.

"Yeah," I breathe, staring up at his face. This close, I'm not so intimidated by his beauty. The closer he seems to get to me, the less room there is for my awkwardness to seep into the empty spaces between us.

"I'll tell you why I chose Peach later, then, if you still want to know," he promises, reaching behind him to place the empty beer onto the table with the rest of the party-fare. Edward glances over his shoulder once before he turns back to me, his hand landing on the wall next to my neck.

I breathe in deeply and reach up to place my hand lightly on his chest. His heart beats steadily under it, speeding up with my own as I lift myself to my tip toes. "So where do I earn the right to know about my nickname?" I ask him softly, pressing my nose into his neck and letting my eyelashes flutter gently against his skin.

I'm rewarded with a shiver and smile triumphantly. He's as helpless to this longing as I am. And fuck it, maybe he's this way, this intense, with all the girls he has sex with; maybe he's just eager to get in my pants—or skirt, as the situation has it. But that he would react to me this strongly puts me in their ranks; even if I'm not above them, I'm their equal now.

"Not here—I can't stand the thought of some asshole walking in and interrupting. When I take you, I want you to myself.'

I press my legs together, helpless to it, pulling back to meet his hungry gaze. The gold sparks around his irises glint and transform into full flames, the pupils dilating into smoky gravitational magnets. I'd struck the timber, the lightning had hit, and the wildfire is spreading from his body to mine.

"You're all talk and no action right now," I finally manage to prompt. "How do I know you mean what you say?"

Edward smirks and pushes himself against me, his fingers tightening until they dig into my skin. "Can't you feel my honesty?"

-x-

A little before twelve-thirty, Edward takes my hand in his and starts to drag me back through the party. The thought of dancing with him again feeds the inferno in my soul, but I don't think I can take it anymore. I want Edward, now. I've played his game, and it's finally time for him to dole out the prizes.

Thankfully, he seems to realize this isn't the time for more dancing; instead, he's leading me to the front door. I wave at Jane as we pass her, and she stares after me in awe. The girl will probably want to be me after this.

_I_ will probably want to be me after this, for the first time since I began to notice my feminine body and became self-conscious of it. There's nothing to boost a girl's confidence like the interest of a beautiful boy, and this boy is the most beautiful of all. Could be the lust talking, though.

"Peach, now's the time to back out if you think you'll want to at any point tonight."

I grin at him when he looks over his shoulder to gauge my reaction. "I'm not backing out, and you better not either."

Edward laughs, the sound excited and confident and sexy enough to pull one of my stockings down on its own. "You wanna wait while I get my car or come with?"

"I'll go with you," I blurt. I don't want him slipping away from me, not when I have him exactly where I want him. Or almost exactly. Soon to be exactly.

He nods, almost approvingly, but lets my hand go as he climbs down the porch stairs and heads into the darkness. I walk next to him, and the silence carries the nerves of hundreds of thousands of women from the past who had been in this situation before me, the I-know-it's-coming-(and-hopefully-so-will-I) stress of the moment.

I feel the need to speak, just to fill the silence, but I roll my tongue back anxiously, worried any rambling will kill his less-than-honorable intentions.

His car is parked down two blocks, shining black under the illumination of a streetlight. As expected, he doesn't go to open my door. This isn't a date, but more of a meeting or arrangement.

Still, I'm getting in his car—Edward Masen's car. We're driving to his house—Edward Masen's house. And, I'm positive, we're going to have sex in his bed—Edward Masen's bed.

Holy fuck. I really hope I don't die before we get there. Spontaneous combustion is a legitimate worry. I wonder if he's into necrophilia.

What the fuck does sex do to my brain?

I watch his hands on the steering wheel. They're hands that could be sculpted and immortalized, that _should_ be sculpted and immortalized. Suddenly I desire to work with clay and mold them. They'd never have the draw his real hands do, with the sparse bronze hairs on the backs, the little lines that weave his life story, the calluses from who-knows-what, but they would symbolize and remind me of the night I had sex with him and watched his hands as he drove us to the place.

"Do you play an instrument?" I ask before I mentally bitch-slap myself. Hadn't I just sworn I wasn't going to talk and disrupt us?

He smirks at me. "No. Why?"

"No reason," I hurriedly assure him.

"There had to be a reason to ask," he prods, grinning full out now. He lives to irritate me, apparently.

"Just the… your hands," I say, shrugging idiotically. "I was just curious."

He glances at them. "I garden."

My brow furrows. It doesn't fit with his smug personality—it seems more docile than I'd ever imagined him to be, which is why it had never occurred to me. He might be lying, yanking my chain. I kind of deserve it for butting into his business. Then again, those hands will be all over me later and I want to know how they came to feel the way they do.

"Do _you_ play an instrument?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Um, no. I used to play violin, in sixth grade, but I poked another kid in the face one too many times with the bow, so they kicked me out of orchestra."

Edward's head falls back as he laughs, and I decide I'll do anything if he continues to make that sound. The feelings it brings about in me are new, thrilling, and I love them. But then I recall that tonight is our only night—he is, after all, Edward Masen, and our futures most likely aren't headed in the same direction anyway. Even if he feels every electrical tingle that I do, our protons and electrons aren't destined to stay together. We'll become ions soon enough and this compound will break; like many before it, our connection is brief and tenuous, satisfying a common need. Still, for now, we are magnetic and I'll enjoy that to the fullest extent while I can.

"Lost in memories of taking eyes out?"

His voice is gentle as it disrupts my thoughts, easing me from them instead of startling me. "Hmmm?"

"You stopped asking questions and you were frowning. I'm not used to our conversations ending with _your_ voice," he teases.

"Hey, that's just because you like to get in the last word and I feel bad for you because you obviously can't control your hair—at least this way you can control something, even if it is just a conversation."

_Nice, very smooth. I'm sure he loves it when the girls he intends to fuck insult him. Damn it._

But he's laughing again, and I'm smiling, and it's automatic, this thing between us, even if he _does_ annoy me to the point of snapping at him.

"There you are. Welcome back, Peaches, I missed you."

It's my turn to giggle. "Awww, now just imagine what'll happen to your brain after graduation. Without me around to keep it sharp and provide insults, you'll get way too cocky and forget how to use it for things other than getting girls."

Edward purses his lips and turns his eyes from me. "Right." There's a slight pause, and I wonder if I'd offended him before he smirks and mutters, "But at least there's the getting girls part to rejoice about."

Now it's my turn to pause. "Uh-huh. That's always important," I murmur, looking out the window as we turn onto his street. I've never been to his house, but my calculus partner lived across the street and I'd recognized his shiny car and his mom's stunning hair color, so I know where he lives anyway.

I've inserted the space between us again, started the electrolysis prematurely, and it's slowly filling with the awkwardness that seems to seep from my pores and my poorly-chosen words. _Why_ had I said anything about other girls? Why had I said I'd be out of his life after graduation?

_Because __it's__ true_, I remind myself forcefully. _Enjoy __it __while__ it __lasts._

We pull up the curb in front of his house, and I notice all of the lights are off. I wonder if his parents have gone to bed; it's just before one by the clock in his car, and I expect mine are already snoring lightly next to each other.

"My parents are at a dental conference in Seattle for the night," he says as turns the key in the ignition. "For my mom's job or something."

Oh, goodie. The house to ourselves. Why had I been so excited about this fifteen minutes ago? Oh, yeah, because I was going to have sex with him and there was no heaviness in the air back then.

"How often do they go to the conventions?" I ask as I step out of the car onto the sidewalk.

"Once or twice a year for the big ones, and whenever the small ones come up. I go with them sometimes, just to get out of town, but they didn't want me going this time because I'd have missed 'my last few precious days of high school'—at least, according to my mother," he tells me as he rounds the car, twirling his keys in his hands. The streetlight down two houses turns his hair into liquid brass as a breeze ruffles through it.

He reaches out as we walk across his front yard and wraps his pinky finger around mine, a small bond that instantly puts me at ease again.

"What time do you need to get home?" he asks as he unlocks the front door.

"Erm… I don't really have a curfew tonight, because Kate's taking me to school tomorrow, but I told her about two," I admit, following him inside. He flips on the light nearest us, and I glance around curiously while he drops his keys into a glass bowl on the table and locks the door behind us. I take the chance to take my phone and chapstick out of my bra, setting the items on the table next to his keys. He slips his shoes off and I copy.

"Come on, let's go upstairs."

I trail him tentatively up the steps, my nerves like wires transporting the electrical current originating from his fingers straight up to the roots the hair on my neck, which respond much like my hair does to static.

Our breathing is the only sound in the quiet hallway. He hasn't turned on the light here, so I blindly follow his darkened silhouette and the tentative link of our pinkies. Edward pulls me into the second room on the left side of the hallway, letting me go and crossing the room to turn on the light at his desk. He leans over the dark wood to scroll through his iPod before setting it into the docking station and filling the room with the opening chords of Saving Abel's 'Addicted.'

I nervously fiddle with the edge of my dress again as he turns to stare at me, crossing his arms. "Come here," he says softly.

My feet move of their own accord, the tension thickening between us with each step. The gap between our heights, larger without my boots, makes my heart race in my chest, thumping loudly against my rib cage. I'm sure that if it weren't for the bones, my heart would be on the floor at his feet, fluttering about feebly until he picked it up.

His hand rises to brush the side of my neck, and I sigh, leaning into him as everything dissolves. I remember why I'm here, how his skin feels against mine, the way my body craves him.

"Your skin's so soft," he mutters, and then his lips are on me where his hand had just been, warm and smooth and gentle, his tongue warm and smooth and wet when it traces the edge of my jaw.

The moan that ghosts out of my body doesn't embarrass me, nor does his free hand as it rises to my shoulder, playing with the strap of my dress. The fire of his touch torches every hesitant emotion, lighting the fuses of the reactions he and I both want—the sounds rising from my throat, the goosebumps lifting all along my body, the way I press further into his form for optimum contact.

When I'm with him like this, I don't feel as if I'm with the annoying lab partner I still barely like. Our bodies know each other even if our minds don't, and, from the ease with which we move, know each other well.

I lift his face to mine, pulling his bottom lip between mine as my hands twine into his hair, my leg wrapping around his calf, my hips molding to his. It's sensuous, slow, and I feel more alive than I ever have before, more beautiful than I knew I was capable of being. "Edward," I whisper against his mouth.

He quiets the rest of my words by pressing his tongue against mine, and we are tasting again, tangled, caught in the reactions we coax from each other. He pushes forward into me, and I reluctantly unwind my leg and walk backwards with him until my thighs hit the high edge of his mattress. His hands slide from my neck to my waist, lifting me easily, before he moves to stand between my legs, his thumbs smoothing small circles over my dress as it rises to reveal the edges of my stockings.

"Shit," he whispers as he glances down at them before his eyes move back to mine, dark with passion and shadows. "Can I—?"

I take one of his hands in mine and guide it down to the top of my stocking. His fingers dip between the material and my skin, running lightly over soft flesh, the calluses rough and yet gentle against me. I shudder and his other hand joins the first, one on each side of my thigh, slowly pulling the stocking down to my knee.

"Lift your leg for me," he orders quietly, taking the opportunity to draw it all the way down, over my calf, my ankle, the arch of my foot. He leans forward to kiss the inside of my knee, and I clench the material of his bedspread in my fists, listening to what I imagine as the hum of our energy as it races up my leg. The intensity almost drowns out the music in the background.

He repeats the action with my other stocking, moving his kiss up to the inside of my thigh instead. The muscles in my legs tighten, and he runs a hand soothingly over my skin, moving in to kiss my mouth again, guiding me backwards onto the bed. He crawls up over me, one knee between mine, his arms braced by my neck. There's too much space between our bodies. "Come here," I echo, pulling him down to me by the collar of his shirt.

Edward's weight on me doesn't feel as I expected it to. With Jake, I had always felt trapped under his heaviness, stranded and at his mercy. Now, the compelling connection between Edward and me seems to comfort instead, igniting our lust. It pulls our bodies together, aligning us perfectly—his arms under me cradling my shoulders as my own explore the tight contours of his back, our chests pressed together, my thighs rubbing against the denim of his jeans between them.

My back arches as his hips rolled purposefully into mine. "Oh," I sigh, my fingers tightening in his shirt and slowly dragging it up. His mouth breaks away for a moment as the material slides between us, but then he's back, and his skin is so hot and smooth and defined over long muscles.

He moves his hands down to my waist again, pulling me with him as he rolls onto his back until I'm straddling his thighs, my hands braced on his stomach. "Raise your arms," he coaxes gently, lifting his hands to the material of my dress where it bunches at the top of my legs. I swallow and do as he said, closing my eyes and tensing as the cooler air hits my skin while the silky material glides up my body, his fingers trailing purposefully after it, warm and coarse against me. I shudder as they pass over my ribs, drawing in a ragged breath.

My hair falls down to brush against my back as the dress finally makes it off, and I breathe deeply to keep myself calm, feeling his eyes on me and wondering what he sees, what he likes or doesn't, what he thinks about me—

I gasp as his hands close on my hips, pulling me up his body. The button of his jeans passes under me and I tense against him, wanting to grind into it again and again. "God," he breathes, and I can feel him sitting up under me. I start when his mouth lands against the swell of my breast, and relax into him immediately, my hands tracing their way up his arms to his shoulders.

"Peach," he whispers before lightly dragging his teeth over me.

My eyes flutter frantically against the feeling as I pull his face to mine again, pressing into him aggressively. He meets me, kissing me with equal abandon, fierce and gentle as one, like his fingers as they smoothly unclasp my bra. It slides down my torso before he pulls it from between us, flinging it onto the floor over the bed.

"You're wearing t-too much," I stutter as he drags his palms around my ribs.

"Shhh," he soothes, his thumbs passing over sensitive flesh. "What is it with you and trying to get your clothes off around me? Like I said earlier—just feel. I want you to feel me, my hands on you—do you feel this, Peach?"

I moaned as his fingers sweep across my skin, my head falling back. "Oh, God, yes."

"Do you like it?" He repeats his actions, and once again I respond in the same way. "This is what I want you to focus on. Don't think about undressing me, just enjoy the way I'm touching you, the feel of my fingers against your skin… the heat of my mouth against your neck…"

"Edward, please," I whisper as his tongue darts out again to taste me. My hands creep up his stomach to his chest, where I doodle aimlessly, copying the patterns his fingers are tracing over me.

"Shhh, no more talking now."

I kiss him, hard, wanting him to feel what I do. My hips grind into his without my permission, as if conscious choice has been suspended for the moment and my body is in control. It does whatever it wants, rolling over Edward as the waves of the ocean break on the rocks, powerful and unstoppable and constant in rhythm.

He groans into my mouth, and his hands slide down to toy with the strings of my thong, dipping under the sides and running teasingly over my ass, taunting me.

"I want you," he breathes, using his grip on my hips to pull me into him, arching up against me from below.

I pant and push him back on the bed. "Be still," I command quietly as I move down his body to his jeans, running my hand over the button and glancing up at him. His gaze is green and mesmerizing, his thoughts clear in the depths. My pulse leaps as I push the button through the hole and my hands find his zipper.

He lifts his hips off of the bed to help me as I begin tugging his jeans down. I swallow harshly at the shape outlined in his boxer briefs, pulling the pants more forcefully until I'm sitting at his feet and they're off, until I can climb back up and kiss him just above the waistline of his underwear, my hair falling around us to tickle his skin.

At the slight contact, his stomach clenches and he sits up, pulling me into him and rolling us over until I'm under him again, and he's lined up with me through our remaining clothes, and I moan as he presses into me again. "Now?"

"Yes," I whisper.

His heat disappears for a moment before he returns with a small square in his hands. I watch, fascinated and excited, my heart racing as his hands tear it open. Edward looks at me again, his gaze tracing the lines of my face before falling to my torso, trailing down to my thong, running down my legs before lifting again. His hands are soft but insistent as they pull at the strings around my hips; I shudder as the cool air hits damp skin and wait impatiently for him to shoot it across the room, studying him as he reaches for his own underwear.

I suck in a breath of air as he pushes the black material from his hips, staring as he rolls the condom over himself. God, he's beautiful, and I'm hypnotized, and he's touching me and crawling up my body again, dropping kisses the way some people sprinkle confetti during celebrations, and this is a celebration to rival all before it as his hands press against me, slick and firm and amazing.

"Peach," he whispers as he reaches my face again. "Help me."

Shakily, I reach down to touch him, running my fingers from base to tip, feeling hot and hard and rubber before I guide him to me, coating him in me and pressing him to where we both want him most.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes into me, and I arch against him, and we are one, together, joined in every way. Our skin slides against each other, our hands finding purchase on shoulders and chests and necks and in hair and on hips. My legs wrap around him, holding him to me as his hips pump against mine, the connection strengthening with each pull and return, getting deeper and becoming more. His name falls from my lips when they aren't attached to his stifling warmth—his jaw, his pulse point, his face, his mouth.

"Shit," he breathes against my neck. "Holy shit."

Oh, God, he feels it too. He has to feel it. This isn't just sex—it isn't love, it definitely isn't—but we aren't two beings anymore. I wonder if we ever have been. This is something more, something profound, and it can't end. I never want it to end. If we could hang right here, suspended in time just like this, our skin melting into each other, I would be satisfied. I'd never want for anything else.

"Edward," I gasp, incoherent. It's too intense, and I've been ready for him forever, and I feel as if this is our purpose, coming together like this on this night. We've been created for this moment. His grip on my being at this moment is adamantine, unbreakable, astonishing; as of now, he owns me and I own him. For this short time, we belong.

My walls flutter and I clench my jaw against it; it can't end. But it is, and then it does, and the stars burst against his eyes as they bore into mine, reeling with everything I feel, and then he's with me, against me, and we collapse.

"Bella," he whispers, his breath shaky against my collarbone. "Bella."

I'm soaring, riding currents of bliss and fulfillment. He'd said my name, my real name, and in this word is everything we had just experienced, everything that differentiated this moment from those before.

We lay silently but for our breathing and the music that still plays in the background. Finally, groaning against it, he pulls out of me, away from me, his skin slipping off of mine, and time snaps back into place as the condom snaps off.

"Wait here," he says quietly, picking up his briefs and slipping them back on before disappearing, leaving me alone in his room on his bed. He's back a moment later, a washcloth held in his hand, climbing up the bed to press it against me softly. His eyes avoid mine, his muscles tense, and I remember who we are and what this is and how it came to be and how it will end.

I move his hand from me and clean myself up, sitting on the edge of the bed and showing him only my back, willing my trembling body into submission, fighting against my soul. He isn't mine, even if I'm his for the moment. A soft kiss on my shoulder pushes a shudder through me and I jump off the bed, bending to pick up my bra and the dress from the floor. My thong is somewhere across the room, but as I slip the brown material over my head, I'm just focused on escaping everything—my thoughts, his room, _him_. I grab my stockings and turn to face him, dropping the washcloth inconspicuously onto a pile of dirty clothes.

He's pulled his jeans and shirt back on, and is leaning against the desk staring at me, his feet bare. His eyes have aged a thousand years, a knowledge neither of us had been ready for thrust upon us. "Ready?" he asks, so quietly I almost don't hear him.

I nod, unable to speak through my tight throat. It had been everything I expected and more, the best sex of my life as it was and ever will be, and it's over, our purpose served. The compound is about to dissolve.

In his doorway, he pauses, looking down at me, and then his hand is tender against my neck, and his lips are gentle as they press against mine.

"I'll take you to Kate's."

"Thanks," I whisper, and follow him from his room, down the stairs. I grab my phone and chapstick before picking up my boots, stuffing everything into them; I carry them outside with me instead of putting them on. The grass in front of his house is cool and damp against my feet; his are bare as mine, and I realize this is only another similarity between us, as if we are both trying to cleanse our souls of what we've just learned. We've picked the fruit of knowledge unknowingly, unaware that it had been disguised as a peach rather than an apple.

Ensconced in the car, I text Kate to let her know I'm on my way back, anything to avoid looking at Edward.

"I call you Peach because you're soft," he says quietly as he drives. I turn to stare at him, my heart beating bitterly against me. "You've always been soft—your skin was the first thing I noticed about you. I wanted to touch you and see if you felt the same way you looked. But I don't just mean physically—it was emotionally too, which is everything. And you blush, sometimes, and it's pink like a peach, and you smell like peaches to me. I've always loved peaches, and that's all you reminded me of, the entire year. I was saving you for last, as my dessert."

I swallow. "I guess it does make sense."

"No, it doesn't." He's shaking his head, and something heavy fills my veins, and the electricity from earlier had petered out, stranding us in a black out. It will never be returned, the power will never be fixed; the cables have been cut and we are off the grid.

"No," I repeat, whispering as I turn away again. "None of this has."

It's quiet once more, and I wish I could smile at him, wish I could thank him; I would have if things had gone the way I expected, if we had just had normal teenage sex, but we both know that it was different, and it sits between us, weighty and immobile, terrifyingly real.

As we pull up to Kate's, I know this is our goodbye, our ending. We are single elements again, and I wonder if I'll ever get my electron back from him or if I'll find another to replace it. I don't want an electron to replace it, though, and I know I'll simply be a charged ion for the rest of my existence, all because of this insane chemical reaction between us.

"Good night, Peach," he murmurs in the dark, and I simply nod and step out, away, feeling the bond as it falls between us.

His car turns the corner down the street, and my life as I know it has been changed. I thought I knew the definitions of passion and intensity, but my dictionary has been scrambled and I no longer know what is what.

I sit on Kate's step and stare out into the dark, waiting for the moment she'll return and I'll have to lie and tell her nothing happened. What we'd shared isn't material for gossip. It will be mine and mine alone for the rest of my life.

-x-

AN:

-x-

Wasn't planning on writing this, but it kind of just bloomed from the peach blossom. Honestly, it really was just the word Peach, as a nickname. I just thought about Edward calling her Peach, and then I got my plot bunny (link at top) and I suddenly I was using them both to get this as the result. Oh, haaayyy, and my first published lemon, even though the Smirnoff was lime-flavored. Sufficient?

Thanks muchly to cocomama101 (Breathe) and IcelandGirl812 (The Shop at the Corner of Twilight) for their amazing prereads (and help with the summary). I'm so happy I got you two to give me your input early. Much love, like, really really.

Also: do not drink and drive like these two characters. Underage drinking is illegal, as is DRIVING under the influence. Even one may be too many, after all. Please be safe.

Song credits:

Bella's listening to 'Raw Sugar' by Metric in the first scene.

I had no idea Chilean rap could help me write. I feel more poetic than usual. idk, maybe it's just me. I listened to this song ('1977' by Ana Tijoux) on repeat for much of the party scene.

Originally, I wanted to use 'Run' by Snow Patrol for the sex scene, but it slowed me down when writing, so that changed to 'Addicted' by Saving Abel. I still think 'Run' is a great song for that scene, and my original choice. I'd advise taking a listen anyway.

-x-

_EDIT: nov 4, 2011—I went in and, yes, edited. Changed it from past to present tense because it sounds so much better to me. _


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently, Peaches won a special award from SorceressCirce in the Plot Bunny Contest! You can see other contest winners on the Plot Bunny Contest blog. :) Peaches won the 'Say It Ain't So' award... which is part of the reason Peachward continued to grow, because, like some of you (and myself), he might just be an HEA kind of guy...

_Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns any and all Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is the author's original work and property. Copyright 2010 by hyacinthgirl18. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without the author's express written authorization, for that would be plagiarism and, as such, is deeply frowned upon._

-x-

_**Cherry, pt 2 of The Orchard**_

-x-

The humid air of late September swirls down the street, pushing against my legs and bustling me along with it. I follow willingly, dragging loose strands of hair out of my face with my free hand.

Work today had been… annoyingly difficult. Mr. Hale had been in today himself, and, as always, had something to say about mistakes I was making, whether in personal appearance or my work quality.

I rather like it when his daughter fills in for him, which has been occurring increasingly often during my internship. Rosalie is abnormally warm for someone known as the 'Icicle,' insisting on being called by name and greeting every staffer personally in the mornings. Her nickname supposedly originates from her reputation in the conference room—she always has the upper hand, if only because her pale beauty often flusters her counterparts and her sharp brain does the rest.

Realistically, I know Mr. Hale doesn't dislike me, but it often feels that way. The first half of my two-summer internship with Hale & Associates, a rapidly growing mechanical parts business, is coming to an end, but he'll have to put up with me next year too. I like learning how Rosalie plans to run the company—she's a complete motorhead, and had double-majored in International Business and Mechanical Engineering. It had taken her five years, from what I hear, even with summer courses. Still, it has obviously paid off. Her dealings are largely abroad in Europe, specifically Germany, but Hale & Associates is based out of Seattle, and I'd been quite lucky to get the paid summer internships.

I'm not interested much in the mechanics part, but seeing how she runs the business in general is fascinating, and I'm learning much outside of the classroom. One more year of school and I'll have my Certificate of International Business Studies myself, though more is sure to follow.

Sighing, I unscrew the cap of my half-empty V8, taking a sip as I step into a crosswalk with other pedestrians. Seattle has been unseasonably warm this month, and I once again regret the wool sweater dress Riley had talked me into buying last April.

Lauren's ringtone interrupts my internal whining, providing the perfect distraction.

"Hey, Bella, don't make plans tomorrow night—we're going out."

Of course we are. I roll my eyes, used to her tricks by now. "This isn't just to blow off steam before school starts again, is it?"

"Nah, you know me better than that. I might advise you to find earplugs, since you lost your last pair." Even through the phone, I can easily imagine her mischievous smirk, and I groan playfully.

"I didn't _lose _my last pair—you threw them at some random guy in the club to get his attention," I remind her, grinning a little at the memory. "And then you said you'd replace them, and you never did."

"Oh, did I really? Oops. Oh well." My answering snort doesn't dissuade her from her course. "Well, just keep it open. School starts next Wednesday and I've got a lot of nervous energy to wear out before it does. Plus, the treadmill at the gym is acting funny, so _that__'__s_ out."

"Just because you fell off of it last time—and you were hung over and still slightly drunk, I might add—does not mean it's 'acting funny.' That was _all_ you, Lauren." I laugh as she sputters on the line. "Want me to pick up dinner for us? Is Ange over? Have you talked to her today?"

"Yeah, she'll be here later. Hey, you know that hot guy that lives down the hall from us? The blond?"

"Uh-huh," I answer absently, passing my favorite bookstore and hovering indecisively outside. "What about him?"

I'll have to get off the phone if I go in. Bookstores and I go way back—I know they appreciate the silence needed to properly revel in their infinite wisdom and entertainment, as do their patrons.

"Well, get this—you know how we haven't gotten any new mail since, like, last week? And your mom promised cookies? Apparently all of our mail was in his box when he got back from his vacation, so he came over earlier to drop it off. I got his name and everything, and we ate all the cookies, by the way. But that's beside the point—"

I feel my face crumple. "Lauren! That is _so _not beside the point—I love my mom's cookies! I can't believe you ate them!"

"Bella! Shut up! Hot blond neighbor guy, remember? This isn't about baked goods, it's about man meat. Anyway," she huffs in annoyance, and I roll my eyes yet again, still bitter over the loss of sweets, "his name is Jasper Whitlock, and he's a photographer—he just got back from Scotland, I guess, which is why he's never really here. He's not a prostitute or porn star or druggie like you thought."

"My theories were much more exciting," I mutter, finally walking past the bookstore and wondering if the bakery across the street from our apartment will still be open by the time I get there. Have to replace those cookies now that my cow of a roommate ate them without me.

"Sure, but your theories involved STD's, and his real life doesn't—"

"You asked?" Honestly, I'm not surprised by this. Like my old friend Irina, Lauren is blunt as a knife used for sawing through wood. Though, it must be noted, hers is more from a lack of filter than a desire to avoid bullshit.

"Not exactly, but I hinted. What I'm trying to say, though, is that he's free and pretty. And, well, Bella, I'm kinda under the impression that you're either asexual or a lesbian. If it's the second option, I'd at least like to know so I don't inadvertently turn you on or something. Either way, I think you should talk to him, get to know him or whatever. Or, hey, if you're more like me than I ever knew, bang and blame."

The sigh leaving my lips weighs more than a gray whale. "Lauren, I'm not asexual or a lesbian. You would know if I was. Also, wasn't it only, like, last month that I went out with that guy… uh… whatever his name was? The guy who wore the leather cuffs and listened to Nickelback and shit?"

"Bella, darling, that was _five_ months ago."

"Oh." I pause to let this information sink in, swallowing and blinking. "Um. Wow. Okay."

"Okay as in you'll take an interest in our neighbor, or okay as in 'you're right—holy shit, how do I go this long without sex?'"

I flounder for a response, accidentally bumping into some woman on the sidewalk. "Sorry, sorry," I mutter, grimacing apologetically at her when she scowls at me. "I don't know, Lauren. We'll talk when I get home or whatever. Are you okay if I pick up Thai for us?"

She groans into the phone, but affirms my choice and reminds me to get enough for Angela as well. "Pick up some booze, pretty please, Bella my love...?"

"No, you can go out and get drunk tomorrow night. Just finish off the last of the _Jägermeister_ for now, bitch."

We end the phone call laughing, but mine is more forced than it should be. During our conversation, my muscles had tensed up, my mind carting me to a place I don't often allow it to visit. I pull my thoughts away from the memory, shortening the leash like they're a dog trying to pee on a fellow jogger. Still, my stomach is clenched and the tiny hairs on my arms lift. I rub my hands over the sweater sleeves to calm myself, crossing them over my chest defensively.

_I__'__ll__ drop __kick __you__ out__ of__ my__ head __if__ you__ try __that __again,_ I warn myself.

I know it was useless—it's never worked before. I'd accidentally smeared the memory with superglue before I shoved it in, and no amount of acetone would remove it.

-x-

Angela answers the door when I kick it, my arms laden with bags of Thai food and a box from the bakery.

"Here, I'll take this," she says, taking a bag from my cramping fingers. "Sorry we made you get it by yourself."

"No problem," I answer, shivering. Lauren keeps the air conditioner on high, which made bras a necessity in this apartment, even during lounge-time. Coupled with the chilly strangeness that had resurfaced during Lauren's phone call, even my sweater dress isn't enough to keep me warm.

"Thank you, Umbrella, I heart you hard!"

"Quit it with the umbrella thing, Lauren, and shut it," I retort as my roommate sails into the kitchen with the almost-empty liquor bottle, following Angela and the food.

"I can't—it's always open for business. I know _your_ vagina is screwed shut and all, but that's not normal, Bella. Didn't your gynecologist tell you that last time?"

Angela snorts delicately as I turn to stare at the blonde over the island. "No, he didn't. But he gave me some cream for you, because he knows you're running low on your prescription. Is that rash cleared up yet?"

"Bitch," she snaps, leaning forward to take the food boxes out of the bags.

"Slut."

"Shut up," Angela groans, rolling her eyes.

Lauren and I grin at each other, and I remind myself that, while meddling, she is my best friend and has helped me live through the past three years of school, work, rent, stress, alcohol, and Riley.

I pass out the plates as Angela stretches for the glasses in the cupboards, Lauren opening the various boxes. We've done this routine many times before, and will likely repeat it for a while yet, until we leave Seattle. It's a system where each component has its specific part, much like our friendship, and it's easy and effective and ebullient.

Most of the conversation for the first thirty minutes is banter between me and Lauren. Angela has been having a hard time of it lately and needs to relax first, but we finally turn to serious talk of our day as we move our bitching into the living room, complaining about work and school starting and the people we'd met.

Of course Lauren brings the conversation back to Neighbor Guy—Jazzpurr, as she insists on calling him. She claims his voice was smooth as jazz, hence the first part, and that he could most definitely make me purr if I give him the chance. I shudder, wondering if I really want to be with someone who can coax cat-noises out of me. I'm thinking not.

Angela watches the verbal volley with interest, from my flimsy excuses to the mocking expressions adopted by the girl across the table. She isn't really participating in discussions about guys—her separation from Ben hasn't yet blown over—but she finds the conversation hilarious. Or, at least, she finds my floundering hilarious. Something like that.

"_Why_ won't you at least consider it?" Lauren finally bursts, falling back onto her side of the couch dramatically.

I pause, and the trapdoor flies open in my head.

"_But everyone calls you Bella. Peach is special."_

"_I think tonight's the night you should vary your routine."_

"_Take it easy, girl, we've got all night." _

Swallowing harshly against the memory of his voice as it spills over the dam I'd built around it, I shrug. "I dunno. I'm just… not interested."

"Bella, _everyone_ is interested in sex. Right, Ange?"

As Angela nods, I bite my lip, my fingers rolling the edge of my dress between my fingers before I drop the woven material as if a black widow had sprung up out of nowhere—I can remember doing the same thing to the brown dress I'd been wearing that night, just before I'd seen him.

God, I hate when he breaks through.

I groan. "Fuck. Fine. Here it is: when I was eighteen, this guy and I had the most intense sexual connection, right, and it's like, nothing will ever match up to that again—nothing ever has so far, and I slept around _a__lot_ during freshman year trying to fuck him out of my system. But he's still there, no matter who I'm with, and it just isn't enough anymore to get empty satisfaction out of it. Sex isn't the same for me as it was before him. He took part of me away with him—the part that gets pleasure out of mediocre sex—and I just… there's a part of me that doesn't want to find anything better, anyway, because I was frightened of the connection with him and anything stronger would probably incinerate me. And then, an even smaller part doesn't want him usurped because I _like_ having those memories, even if I don't like revisiting them because they make me sad in a way I can't explain."

Gasping for air—I'd spat all of that out in two breaths—I glance over at Lauren's _what-the-fuck_ look and Angela's _I__'__m-sorry-can-you-repeat-that_ face.

"Shit, nevermind. Just… I'm sure Neighb—I mean, Jazzpurr or whatever—is great in the sack and all, but I'm fine, honestly. Can we just forget about this, please? If I get lonely or want physical contact, I'll go out and get it. You don't have to coddle me."

I rub my hands over my face, leaning back into the arm of the couch.

My friends shrug at each other. "Riley would have caught all of that," Angela murmurs, grinning at me. "But Lauren and I heard 'sex, guy, incinerate,' and stopped listening while our brains went into overdrive. Sorry, dear."

Laughter spills out of me, and my guilt melts away. "Good, because I swore I'd never tell anyone and I think I just broke that promise—still, at least you didn't understand any of it."

"So… no on Jazzpurr?" Lauren prods, smirking. "Because, if so, that means he's open for me. I'll save him for a time I'm really in need, though. Tomorrow I'll have my hunt on, so I won't be coming back here alone—hope you don't mind, Bella."

Our conversation finally steers itself away from my past sexual encounters, but my thoughts never stray far. As always, whenever I let him out, he's there until real life can force him back under the floorboards. And that is far harder than I'd ever expected it to be.

-x-

Of course Lauren gets her way about going out the next day. Honestly, all we do is drink. I don't often feel the need to dance, and Lauren is just scouting for hot guys with Riley pointing out the gay ones, and Angela just sits quietly smirking into her drink.

We've only been in the bar for an hour and Lauren already has four empty glasses in front of her. I'm rolling my eyes at Lauren's semi-drunk antics when I feel it.

I gasp and drop my empty shot glass onto the table as if it had shocked me. But part of me knows it hadn't been the glass—something with a much greater electric charge buzzes near us, pulling strongly against the strings of my soul.

"Bella, you alright?"

"Hey, careful with the glass!"

"Bella, geez, honey, I'm cutting you off if you're already dropping shit. _Such _a fucking lightweight."

The words circle around me as if trying to find a landing pad, but they can't locate a spot to touch down on because I'm so distracted. I'm concentrating on the feeling of my heart palpitating as if a defibrillator has just been applied to my chest; its somersaulting is worrisome and freakishly familiar.

I recognize the reaction almost immediately, but discredit it as a side-effect of the damn alcohol, because it has to be that coupled with Lauren's prodding yesterday. Maybe the lime from the tequila had done it. I'd been drinking lime Smirnoff that night, hadn't I? Hadn't he told me I tasted like the wrong fruit?

Shaking my fantasy away, I shrug at my friends, smiling apologetically. "Sorry, something startled me," I mutter, stretching out my hands before curling them into fists so they'll stop twitching with the excess energy.

God, it felt so real. Like he was standing just behind me. That's impossible, though, because he'd left for the East Coast early, the Monday after graduation. And if I know anything about him, he'll stay there where he can _live_ instead of suffocating in the small town bubble of anywhere near home. _I__'__d_ stay there—or, more accurately, go there. Even if it's just to find out whether that night had been a fluke after all. He'd left more than he bargained on behind him with his departure—he'd left a girl who had been rewired, her batteries replaced, her electrons scrambled as soon as he had brushed his fingers along her bare skin.

"Spaz," Riley teases, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

I knock his arm down, forcing myself to roll my eyes, but can't help remembering a different hand tangled in my hair, pulling me against him, into him, gentle but controlling and oh so warm—a hand with calluses he'd once blamed on gardening, of all things.

I'm still not sure if that was a load of bullshit. I'd never had a chance to ask if he was serious.

"Says the guy with hair dyed lemon-yellow," I snipe, lifting an eyebrow and crossing my arms over my chest, as if that can contain my heart while it tries leaping over the fence of my ribs. I wish my bones were electric and would cause the stupid organ to behave and settle the fuck down, because it's distracting and anxiety-inducing and it throws me back to the last time it had freaked out this way.

"Hey now, Bella, don't insult the hair—you know his devious prankster ass will turn yours green in return while you sleep," Lauren cautions, smirking into her margarita glass. She swirls the strawberry crap in it and looks around nonchalantly, though I know she's trying to find her prey for the night. "And I _don__'__t_want my roomie to have seaweed on her head, especially for the start of school."

"Not green," Riley disagrees. "Umbrella is more of a… well, pink highlights, maybe, or deep red? It'd certainly liven up that dark chocolate, like raspberry swirls in a Sees candy bar! Or cherry! Oh, what I'd give to put in lowlights for you."

My chest tightens, though I know it isn't in reaction to Riley's rambling. It feels as if my world is tilting on its side, and I'm scrambling to stay upright. How much have I _drunk_ so far? It hadn't seemed like that much… Am I even _standing_?

I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my shorts, swallowing through a constricted throat. "God, I wish they'd turn on the AC in here or open the doors or something—don't they know dancing customers turn up the heat? Shit." The drink menu on the table in front of me becomes my new fan, and I wish I had another cold drink in front of me. Hadn't somebody ordered something on the rocks? Where's the ice?

"It's not that hot," Angela murmurs, looking at me seriously through her glasses, the purple rhinestones on the right side glinting. She's still unusually silent, though Lauren claims we're here for her because she and Ben had recently decided to break off their engagement. "Do you want to get some air with me?"

"Do you mind?" I ask, pulling my shirt away from my sticky skin. "I'm dying suddenly. I don't know if it was the tequila or what…"

Lauren stares around my shoulder, still hunting, but Riley stands with us. "Lauren, I'm going to go smoke a cig—you wanna stay and watch the table or come with us?"

"I'll stay—I think I see my next cuddle-buddy."

I snort at her innocent-sounding nickname. "I think I'll catch you at home later, then, okay? I'm probably going to head out soon."

"Sure," she responds absently, sipping at her margarita. "See you later, Bella."

Riley loops my arm through his, and I'm grateful that he'll pull me outside. Something keeps tugging at me, as though I've forgotten my purse or an item of equal importance. I look back at the table over my shoulder repeatedly, until we're in the alleyway and Ange is handing me her chap stick.

"Thanks," I mutter, smearing it on my lips and breathing in smoke-tinted air, tilting my head back. God, I miss the stars sometimes. I wish they were clearer, but I wish that about a lot of things.

Like I wish I fucking knew what the hell my claustrophobia—if that had been the cause—was about in the bar. I hadn't felt anything like _that_ since the moment he'd found me in the crowd during that party and stared at me with molten spring-green eyes.

The air is cold and smelled like cigarettes when I inhale deeply, trying to both calm and cool myself. The streetlight down at the end of the alley only stretches so far, casting unfamiliar faces in shadows and burnt gold. Riley joins the portrait when he wanders on a few feet to join a group of people leaning against the wall together, the cherries of their cigs burning brightly in the semi-darkness. Ange, as always, stands next to me, waiting patiently for either an explanation or the announcement of my departure for the night.

Leaning back against the chilly brick wall, I sigh heavily, squeezing my eyes shut as if the simple action can block out memories of his laugh, of his intense eyes, of his fingers skimming along my skin…

"Angela, what did you feel when Ben touched you?"

I know she probably isn't ready to talk about him, but maybe it's what she needs. Maybe the distraction is what _I _need.

She frowns and crosses her arms over herself. I watch as her skin prickles with goosebumps in the cold Seattle night air, and wonder why I still feel as if my blood is on fire, even in my dressy shorts. "How do you mean? Physically, emotionally, mentally…?"

"All of them," I answer, desperate to know, to compare, to check how normal our reaction to each other had been, even as young as we were. We'd been explosive, and nothing had ever matched up to the experience of being with him that way.

Edward Masen had given me the best experience of my life—earth-shattering, world-scrambling, fantasy-forming sex—the only thing we had ever shared besides our chemistry textbook and a lab table. I'd never heard from him again after the soft 'good night' that fell from his lips as I stepped out of his car; I hadn't expected to, but I also hadn't expected whatever it was that occurred between us. Sure, I'd known we were going to have sex—he was Edward Masen, after all—but I hadn't thought for a moment that it might _mean_ something more than two fluttering hearts and feel-good orgasms.

I know he was running from what we'd learned, when he left early, and wish I could have done the same. Instead, the experience had branded itself into me as if caused by a chemical burn—my body, my subconscious, my memory… He's everywhere, even three years and four months later, and I'm left behind, scrambling. Try as I might, I can never get back to the girl I had been before he'd touched me. That last day in advanced chem had passed the electric current from his fingers up my spine, tangling his electrons with mine and tethering our elements together.

I'd never talked much about him until last night—about what we'd shared—with anybody before, not even Kate when we were still close. I don't think I'll tell Ange what brought this all on either, but I need to know.

"I… I don't know, Bella. I mean, it felt like he was a part of me sometimes, like my extension, but other times I'd start feeling like I was alone and isolated, even if he was holding my hand at the time. He was all I could think about, and then I'd forget and be distracted by something minor." She looks down at the ground, kicking at a glass bottle, and I immediately feel bad for making her relive her separation.

"Sorry," I offer quietly. "I just…"

"Can you tell me what you were expecting, what you wanted to hear?" she asks, her gaze meeting mine again. She's a serious person in general, more so now than before, and I'm constantly under the impression that she can read my soul as easily as I comb through Tolkien.

I clear my throat, looking away. "Just… I don't know what I'm looking for," I admit softly. "It's like… nevermind, it's stupid, just the same stupid thing from high school as I was talking about last night. Long story."

Her eyebrows rise, and I groan mentally. _Way __to __pique __her __curiosity__._

"I wasn't listening very closely last night, Bella, sorry, but does this have anything to do with why Lauren has to get you drunk before you go on dates? And why you turn down most of the guys who ask you out?"

I shrug, playing with my fingers. "Kind of. I can't explain, really, I don't even know what it was." We're quiet for a moment, listening to Riley's braying laughter as he flirts with someone down the wall. "I'm going to head home, okay?"

Ange nods and hugs me loosely. "Call if you need anything before Lauren gets home, okay? And text me when you lock your door so I know you're safe."

"Definitely. Thanks, Angela. 'Night." I wave as I back away from her, pausing to kiss Riley's cheek goodbye. He flaps his hands at me to encourage my departure, focusing on the guy next to him, and I have to laugh, though my heart is pulling me backward again. I check for my purse, just to be sure, and bite my lip, frowning thoughtfully as I walk down the street. The feeling lessens the farther I walk, and I'm able to breathe easier after a while, the fist around my heart loosening.

God, something about that place had just… taken over me, dragged me back in time to the eighteen year old girl following Edward Masen up his stairs, until she stood in his bedroom, and then his arms, and laid down underneath him and was sucked into the vortex of something intense and passionate and ancient. I shiver as I recall my feelings at the time, the way my body reacted to his lightest touch as if he'd been a live wire.

The apartment is dark but for the light we'd left on in the dining room. I ignore the switches and head for the bathroom immediately, needing to wash everything off, hoping the anxiety in my chest will melt away with the hair spray Lauren had used to give my hair a bit of volume.

My time outside, though I hadn't noticed it, has severely affected the temperature of my skin, and I yelp as the water burns against my legs. "Shit!" I whimper, leaning out of the spray and reaching to turn it colder. "Stupid Bella. Stupid, stupid, idiotic Bella."

Lauren's cherry body wash sits innocently on the shelf next to mine, which is the same brand as it had been in high school. I couldn't bear to change it, not after everything he'd shared and the role it had played in getting us to that night.

I stare at the picture on her bottle instead of mine, imagining the dark red cherry as someone bit into it, the juice leaking out, vivid and bitterly sweet, until they reach the stone pit in its middle, spitting it out without a thought. God, is that what Edward and I had done? Enjoyed, cherished the flesh, but ignored what was inside, even so obviously _there _as it had been? I brush it off tensely—the pit is never important, cherry or peach—and hurry through my routine stiffly, desperately willing myself to calm down and relax.

The apartment is still dark when I leave the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with my wet hair tied up and my contacts replaced with glasses. Lauren isn't home yet, and I expect she won't be alone when she does get back—_if_ she comes back here, which she normally does for safety reasons. Part of me knows I'll be woken up when she gets here and then I'll have to listen to her sex-noises, and I'll lay there, jealous and melancholy, wishing to change my past.

Every time I feel this, I want to go back and erase the memory, or prevent it from happening, because it's still cutting into my life in a big way, and I'll never find a serious relationship without comparing them to Edward and the chemical attraction between us.

I pull a pair of panties up my legs and a cotton camisole over my head before climbing into bed and setting my glasses on the bedside table, staring up at the ceiling and the spots of light slipping through my blinds. My eyelids are heavy, but my body is buzzing again, far too alive for sleep. "Fuck," I mutter, rolling onto my side and curling myself around my duvet and a pillow. "Not tonight."

What I'd shared with Edward hadn't limited its affect to consciousness—no, it plagues my dreams and my thoughts and pops up whenever it's least convenient, like the night before a big exam or just after I escort a date out the door or whenever I think of having a night of fun random sex. The dreams are always preceded by this feeling—the same one I'd had as he slowly rolled my stocking down my leg before sweetly, sensuously kissing my knee.

I bite my lip as I imagine his hands on me again, scraping tenderly, and press my face deeper into the bed, inhaling the fruity scent of my body wash and the matching lotion, willing it to clear my head.

Hoping to drown out the impending noise of Lauren's return, I reach out and press play on my iPod, letting the sounds of The Temper Trap fill my room softly.

Sleep doesn't come easily. I'm restless, my memory flooded with the heat in Edward's eyes and the saccharine sensations of his body on mine. When I finally fall asleep, I dream I'm with him again, and he holds me in his arms instead of driving me to Kate's house, and we don't speak with words but let our bodies talk for us because they're better at it than we are.

I wake, panting, as the door slams throughout the apartment. Lauren's voice—the pitch alone loud enough to tell me she's giddy-drunk—is muffled through the walls, though still shrill. I can't pick out individual words, but I can hear the timbre of a male voice responding to her, lowly.

Sighing unhappily, I roll over to face the window instead of the door, wrapping myself around my duvet instead of hiding under it, depending on the sheet for shelter. My skin is sweaty, and too warm, and I hate my subconscious for setting that dream on me right before I get to hear Lauren and her cuddle-buddy.

Things are banging around softly in the living room, and I can imagine them fumbling with each other's clothes, nothing like the way Edward had rid me of mine that night, as if he was going slowly to take in every centimeter of my skin as it was revealed to him, admiring and worshiping me at my barest and most vulnerable. She can't possibly feel as beautiful as I had that night, as cherished, as perfect.

"_Your skin's so soft."_

"_This is what I want you to focus on. Don't think about undressing me, just enjoy the way I'm touching you… the feel of my fingers against your skin… the heat of my mouth against your neck…"_

"_I want you."_

"_Peach."_

"_Bella."_

"_Bella."_

I shiver and feel my heart swelling within me as I listen, my ears straining harder to catch every sound even though I know I don't want to hear it. Anything I can use as a distraction will help me right now.

"This way."

Lauren's voice, breathless and still too-loud, is closer now, and I know they are in the hall, about to walk past my door to get to hers. I hope they don't stop to grind against each other outside my room.

My stomach somersaults as I hear her conquest speaking again, softly—he's much more aware of her roommate than she is. It makes me recall _his_ voice, the way it changed, alternating from annoying to fiery, from infuriating to lustful. Hell, even when he'd just been my annoying lab partner, I'd liked his voice for its quicksilver ways. His breath is next, the phantom warm against my skin as his mouth had been.

I groan quietly, biting my lip and squeezing my duvet tighter to my chest, my body contracting to rebuff the ghost.

"Come on. What are you waiting for?" Her voice is annoyed, and I wonder what he's doing, if he's studying her the way Edward had studied me, like I was his chemistry book and a lab experiment all in one—as if his final grade would be on who I was, what I was, how I was. Maybe she doesn't know she should focus on the guy's admiration of her, revel in it as I had, to intensify the experience.

The guy speaks again, softer, and I can hear Lauren scoffing. "No, that's my roommate's, Umbrella's. Mine's one down."

I frown, distracted from the memories—she'll never stop calling me that, I know, and why is he concerned about who lives behind door number one, when I'm sure Lauren is shirtless and her perky boobs are all over his face? Even _I__'__d _be distracted by that visual—I have been before, sadly.

_He__'__s__ one __of __the__ shy __ones_, I answer myself, _and __embarrassed__ to __be __doing __the __one __night __stand__ thing. __Or __maybe __he __knows__ how __dangerous __it __can __be. __Poor __kid._ _Why__ does __Lauren__ choose __them __from__ that __pool? __To __feel __powerful?__ And __what __are __the __confident __ones __for?_

"What do you mean, _is __she__ home_? She's asleep if she is, and if she's not, she's got an iPod. Just. Come. On." She's practically growling, and I wonder what the hell his problem is, why he's putting it off. Don't all guys jump at the chance to blow a load, especially without emotional attachment? Attachments scare them—they scare everybody.

I envy Lauren, that she can still do the one-night stand thing without forming the covalent bond I once lent myself to before it became ionic.

"Dude, what is your problem? You weren't shy forty minutes ago," she accuses, and I feel bad for the poor guy. He's dangerously close to getting thrown out. For his sake, he better be spectacular in the sack, or I'll be dealing with a pissy Lauren for three days and will want to kill him for not being enough.

I can advise him who to get pointers from, though he'd have to look Edward up by himself.

He answers her, the words still muffled by my door, and I let myself go back to walking up Edward's stairs, our pinkies intertwined as a precursor of how our bodies and possibly souls would be within twenty minutes of that contact.

Fucking Lauren. Every time she brings someone home and I'm awake, I relive it. Though this is more intense than usual. I kick my sheet down, baring my thighs, and lift a hand to push my bangs off of my sweaty forehead.

"You… Why?... Fine, knock away, much good may it do you. God."

My eyes fly open as the idiot actually knocks on my door. '_God__'_ is right. Poor Lauren; she'd picked up an imbecile. I don't feel sorry for him anymore, and I sure as hell am not getting up, no matter how strongly my curiosity tries to pull me to the door.

"I told you, she's asleep! She doesn't want to meet you anyway—believe me, she won't be interested."

He responds, and Lauren's groan is loud enough to slip under the door and over my music—I hadn't even slept for an hour if it's still playing.

"Whatever, but I'm kicking you out after this. You're obviously not into this anymore," she complains.

Suddenly, a strip of light from the hall is spilling across my waist and thighs and over the bed. I swallow but don't move, my eyes snapping closed. _Oh__ my__ God.__ Thanks, __Lauren,__ this__ is __fucking __brilliant. __Hope__ he__ likes__ green __cotton __panties. __Actually, __hope__ he _doesn't.

My skin crawls, but it's not… I'd expected to be creeped out, but when I pause to let myself feel, I recognize it. I know the moment his eyes land on me, even with my back to him.

Air rushes out of my lungs silently, and I lay frozen as the long shadow disrupts the hall light, wondering if I've lost my mind to the memories or if I'm actually dreaming. Soft footsteps cross my carpet, pausing a few feet from the bed, and I hear Lauren hissing at him. "Edward, come on, stop being a freak or I'll call the police. I mean it. If you touch her, I swear to God I'll murder you myself, and it won't be pretty."

Slowly, sluggishly, I roll myself onto my back, bracing myself on my elbows and pushing up, lifting my heavy head to take him in, glorious even to my blurry eyes.

Black tennis shoes… dark washed jeans hugging his muscular thighs, and the button-fly, the slim hips I know so well from their connection with mine and the many times I'd relived the experience through my memories… an untucked navy shirt, wrinkled and darker in some places than others, sticking to the chest underneath… the sweep of his neck, so familiar to my lips… the line of his jaw, sharp and heavy and enough to make my body pulse with desire, even coated in barely-noticeable stubble as it was now… a mouth I crave on my skin in place of every other… the nose, still defiantly telling the stories of its many breaks…

His eyes clash with mine then, dark and shadowed and still so very passionate, and suddenly the fire is coursing through my veins again, racing down the path toward the inferno only he can ignite.

"Hey, Peach," he whispers, and the smile is unavoidable, breaking across my face to match his.

"Hi," I say quietly, all too-aware of the lack of adequate clothing that is my sleepwear as his gaze flickers over me like liquid flame.

"I knew it," he mutters to himself, and then he's kneeling next to my bed, and I've rolled over to see him, so very close to my face, and, God, he still smells like cinnamon and I don't know how that's possible, and his hair is a mess from Lauren's fingers, and her lipstick is smeared on the corner of his lips, but I don't care because he's here, in front of me, lifting his hand to brush my cheek.

My eyelids flutter closed, my face pressing into his touch without clear intention to do so. His fingers are still calloused.

"Um, excuse me, but what the hell? Didn't I _just _fucking tell you not to touch her? Bella, he's a freak, push him away!"

Lauren is suddenly standing over us, her hand reaching angrily, protectively, for his arm, and I tumble out of bed to catch her, to stop her from breaking us apart, rolling onto them, bringing her down with me as I land on him.

He's laughing, his arms circling me, twining like ivy, tightening, holding me to him. My own laughter flows out, and then my face is pressed into his shoulder, and we're touching, the electricity flowing freely through the unbroken circuit as it rewires itself, my body buzzing to life as an active part of this compound.

"Hi," I whisper again, lifting my head to grin at him.

"Hi," he echoes, teeth white in the beam of light spilling across us.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"H—"

"Bella? What the fuck is going on? Do you mind letting me know?"

I sigh, my body relaxing into his, my anxiety disappearing as familiar panes press into my soft places, matching up exactly as they'd done before.

"This… we… Edward…" I flounder, my brain too focused on him to respond properly.

"Peach and I went to high school together," he finally tells her, his gaze roaming over my face, taking in the changes as mine does the same to him.

"Peach?"

Her annoyance finally pulls me out of our electric field, and I roll off of him, lying on my back and looking up at her, braced on my elbows again. "His nickname for me," I tell her, and I want to apologize—for screwing up her night, not for taking him—but my smile is too wide, my eyes too bright.

She stares down at us, her dress disheveled, her hair down, lips plump from his attentions to them earlier in the evening.

"Um… Again, I'm sorry to reiterate, but—What. The. Fuck?"

I sit up, placing a hand on his chest to help me, and reaching toward her with the other. "I'm sorry, Lauren… it's… complicated."

She rolls her eyes. "Ugh. Just… whatever, explain it later. Like, tomorrow. If anything happens, keep it down. I'm going to shower and sulk before bed. If you hear any suspicious buzzing, don't blame me for needing to take care of myself."

I watch her blonde hair flip around the corner before she shuts my door a little harder than usual, wincing in the sudden blackness.

"Hang on," I say, "let me get a light."

I scramble up, away from him to the low table, using my hands to blindly feel my way through my possessions. My lamp illuminates the room with a small click as I shove my glasses back on, the muted light throwing his features into sharp relief, reflecting off of his eyes as he remains sprawled at the side of my bed.

God, now that I'm not touching him it's awkward again. Holy shit, I thought I'd gotten over this. That _we__'__d_ gotten over this. Apparently, as per usual, I'm wrong once again.

I still can't believe he's here.

Nervously, I lick my lips, pressing them together to hold in the air I'd just taken in before I let it out shakily. "So…"

His lips are tilted upwards at the corners, just slightly, and he runs a hand through his hair as he pulls himself up to sit on the low edge of my bed, looking around my room.

"Nice place," he says, eyes glancing at me before focusing on my busy calendar.

"Er… thanks," I respond, awkwardly, trying to see my living space through his eyes—the light green comforter and white sheets, my book collection organized by author, the papers overflowing my table, the clothes tossed chaotically over various surfaces. I blush when I spot my panties from earlier in the night, and reprimand myself for that, because he's seen me naked before, and I'm standing in front of him in panties right now, so a pair on the floor shouldn't turn my face colors that rival the sunset.

He lifts his eyebrows, nodding back at the whiteboard calendar on my wall. "Looks like you've had a busy month. Lots of social engagements, two doctor's appointments, biweekly meetings with someone named Rosalie, and back to school on Wednesday—U-Dub?" he asks. My memories of his voice haven't done it justice, nor have they saved his physical form away in full detail. Have his shoulders always been so… grabbable, or is that a recent development?

"Yeah, I'm in my final year—I'm an international business major," I tell him, carefully approaching the bed.

Edward grins, turning to face me as I slowly lower myself next to him, pulling my sheet into my lap as I fold my legs pretzel-style. His gaze is slow and sure as it rakes over me, lingering at my collarbones and wrists and waist and sheet.

"I'm transferring," he admits.

It hadn't even occurred to me but once tonight that he was supposed to be in Maryland or Massachusetts or whatever it was, but now I wonder what had brought him back so suddenly. I tilt my head, silently urging him to continue, and he smiles briefly before looking down at the space between us.

"My mom's going through treatment for breast cancer—they found out last October, but I was too late for the spring quarter here and she made me promise to at least finish up the year back East. I set it up to transfer to U-Dub for my last year to be closer to her, you know?"

My expression falls sympathetically, my hand reaching forward to squeeze one of his supportively. "Pass on my wishes for her recovery?" Okay, so I don't know his mom, but mine does and she'll appreciate it as something from the whole family. It's not as if Edward and I had done anything traditional, like meeting the parents—we'd just gotten straight into the physical aspect for about three hours. Still, I know it had to be hurting him and I want her to recover simply for his benefit.

"Sure," he nods, gently wrapping my hand in his fingers, staring down at it.

My muscles relax as I watch him, finding small differences, wondering why he's back and how he'd found me, why we're here… If whatever physical bond between us has been trying to drag him all the way back to me and he'd jumped at his mother's illness as an excuse.

The quiet settles between us, and I hear the shower start in the bathroom, as well as Lauren knocking over the shampoo bottle I recall setting haphazardly on the edge of the step.

His fingers stroke my palm and the underside of my wrist, a repetitious circuit, while his other hand holds mine softly in place. The simple action soothes me, sweeping away all of my questions and worries with each pass, and soon I'm yawning, my body drooping, leaning toward him and inhaling the cinnamon I always associated with the memory of our night and his touch.

It amazes me that my feelings for him are so strong. It isn't just… physical… attraction to him anymore. No, I've… I've formed some kind of… emotional thing?

When we'd sat in class all year, he'd been hot, yes, but annoying. Smart girl that I was, I usually tried to ignore him. But I can recall times when I was desperate to continue a conversation, when something unfamiliar would bubble up in me. Until now, I've chalked it up to undeniable lust, but… I'm not quite sure about that. Judging by my joy at having him here, now, with his clothes on and everything, it too had been more than expected, just as our physical connection had.

"I should let you sleep; you're probably exhausted," he murmurs, finally lifting his gaze to check my clock before he turns back to my surprised face, too quickly for me to disguise the alarm playing over it.

His eyebrows shoot up a little, and he shakes his head vehemently, his slightly-too-long hair flopping everywhere. "I mean, it's not that I want to leave! Uh, I mean, it's just… it's late… and you're tired, and, well, I'll be back, I will, if you want. We might even have classes together, and if we don't we can just… uh… hang out, or catch up or… something."

His grip on my hand had tightened as his voice took on a panicked tone the further into his words he got. A small smile graces my lips before I look down, a few stray pieces of my hair falling from my ponytail, curling around the frame of my glasses.

It seems he's intent on staying this time. I just wonder if I can do the same. I wonder if I even have a choice or if this magnetism will prevent me from getting far enough away for it to lose its power over us. Giving in now might save me a hell of a lot of useless effort, honestly.

"I'll walk you out, I guess," I say, unfolding my legs and stretching my toes, tugging gently on my hand.

"Oh." His eyes widen slightly before he looks away, his grip on me breaking as he stands up, shoulders tense. "Right. I can find my way. You don't have to get up."

"No." I scramble out of bed, falling to the floor with a loud thump as the sheets tangle around my thighs and knees. I groan as I push myself up and kick to get the sheets off of me. "I didn't mean I wanted you to leave, just that, you know, I could get your… cell number or something… since you probably need to get home."

"Oh," he says again, his tone less offended, more relieved. He grins at me, almost sheepishly, and helps me off of the floor. "Well, that I can do. It's about time we traded, don't you think?"

Rolling my eyes, I lead the way back into the hallway and the main living area, squinting against the brighter light out here as I search for my purse, which I'd dropped… somewhere… when I arrived home earlier.

"What's your number?" he asks, digging into his back pocket for his phone. I blush when I realize my hand had twitched toward him as if hoping to make the trip itself, eager to sweep over the high curves of his ass, cursing my reactions to him and the untoward moves they force me to make.

I spout it off, watching his fingers as they input it into the phone. My heart leaps from one rib to the next as I see him type 'Peaches' in place of my name. God, he'd only said it once, maybe twice, tonight. I want him to say it again, because every time I hear the word it reminds me of him, and his voice saying it would be absolutely divine, and not an illusion this time.

He presses send soon after and my phone rings, sounding from behind the couch. "Save that after I leave," he instructs, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Ah, there he is. I'd spent much of the hand-stroking time wondering where his cockiness and the annoying boy from chemistry had disappeared to. It, somehow, comforts me to see the same old grin, and I find I want to know all the differences, all the similarities.

"Nah, I'll just delete it later instead—can't associate with unsavory folk, you know how it is," I tease nervously, mentally rolling my eyes and wondering whether the sassy teenager in me had gone to Cabo or somewhere with most of his annoying talents. Except his have come back by now—maybe mine are on a different flight. Either way, I'm waiting anxiously, because my old sassiness is the only thing I have to calm me down around him.

Edward snorts as I open the door for him, glancing out in the hallway to make sure I won't be regaling my neighbors with my unmentionables. "You've lost your touch. I'm disappointed."

"No, I lost _your _touch," I retort, immediately wishing I could take it back.

Still, a single eyebrow rises and his smile widens as he steps into the hall. "In that case, I can assure you its return is inevitable."

Something under my skin—probably every atom—strains toward him, pulling me to lean against the doorframe while goosebumps lifted all down my body. "I'm counting on that," I whisper, a blush rising as I speak the words while his eyes bore down into mine.

Gold sparks in the green tide of his eyes brighten for a second before darkening, and he lifts a hand to brush my cheek. "Alright, that's settled." His hand falls to his side as he steps backwards, slowly retreating with his gaze trained on me. "Get some sleep, Peach. You're going to need it," he promises, winking slowly before presenting me with his back as he saunters down the hall, hands in his front pockets pulling his jeans down slightly.

I swallow harshly, watching his ass until he hits the stairwell. Fucking hell, this is going to kill me. I'm just not sure whether it will be the fire or the electricity that'll be my undoing once and for all.

Truth to tell, I find I don't mind that much, as long as he's the one at fault.

-x-

AN:

-x-

There is at least one more chapter, if I'm not mistaken. It's another fruit, but I'll let you guess which it is. May have something to do with a Supreme Court case, which you know if you read The Cullen Campaign ;)

You (and I) owe this chapter to IcelandGirl812 for lessening my brain pressure, quoting Shrek with me, helping me plan this out and find the words, pre-reading, and, moreso, for creating a fucking awesome banner for this story—which can now be found on my profile. So, _Cherry_ is for her. Because she's orsum. And supplies me with pictures of Teh Pretteh on teh Twattah… *sigh*

I also apologize to cocomama101 for writing this instead of betaing her chapter. Bad Beta! *cringes apologetically* Sorry I took so long getting it back to you, bb! Blame Peachward, guh. Also, you are an amazing pre-reader and _I_ felt like the idiot when going over it for not seeing what you did. No salt needed with your opinions—you are not a margarita, dearest.

Song Inspiration/Mentions:

'California Gurls' by Katy Perry is Lauren's ringtone on Bella's phone. As annoying as it is, it's so catchy… Plus, I like singing it as I drive. And, after all, I _am _a California Girl, though I don't wear Daisy Dukes and bikini tops around, usually—only occasionally—and I spell it properly.

'Sweet Disposition' by The Temper Trap: love, love, love this song. First heard it in the movie (500) Days of Summer (which was cute) and fell in love, love, love with it. It was all I listened to this chapter. Well, almost. Is also on a commercial for some movie now… maybe Eat Pray Love or whatever it is with Julia Roberts?

'King of Anything' by Sara Bareilles was also on my playlist. It doesn't have much to do with the chapter, really, but I love it muchly. It makes me happy, for some odd reason or another.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns any and all Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is the author's original work and property. Copyright 2010 by hyacinthgirl18. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without the author's express written authorization, for that would be plagiarism and, as such, is deeply frowned upon._

-x-

_**Lemon, pt 3 of The Orchard**_

-x-

"You've got some es-plainin' to do, cuddle-buddy stealer!"

"Merf," I groan into my pillow as something soft—I assume Lauren's counterpart to mine—lands on the back of my head, rudely ripping me away from the last downy remnants of my dream.

"Get up, bitch, we're about to have a throwdown right now! Fight like a man—I mean—girl! Whatever, just get—the—fuck—_up_!"

"Shove off and come back later," I moan, rolling over and dragging my duvet over my head. Sometime in the night, I kicked it half off of my bed so that it only covered my torso. As I inhale, spice and something foreign to my sheets but familiar to me fills my nose, and I sit up at once, shrouded in the comforter. "Oh my god," I gasp, scrabbling to pull it off.

Lauren stands at the side of my bed, her pillow in hand, staring down at me with an expression torn between amusement and vexation. "I wasn't aware that you were drunk enough last night to forget anything. Especially stealing—my—cuddle—buddy!" She punctuates each word with a smack of the pillow, and I throw myself backwards off the other side of my bed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can explain! No, wait, I can't explain. I mean, I can kind of explain. Will you drop the fucking pillow?" I screech as she jumps over my bed to continue her feathery beating.

"My cuddle-buddy, Bella, how _could_ you? And no, I won't drop the fucking pillow until you ex—plain—yourself!"

"Ow," I groan as the pillow falls away from my face. "Did you stuff your pillowcase with a memory foam pillow or what? Jesus, Lauren, that shit hurts."

She snorts, but thankfully the pillow ceases its brutal attack on my visage. "Coffee's in the kitchen. I'll be waiting on the couch, and then—then, you better start talking or I'm dumping that useless load of porn DVD's Tyler left here in the pillowcase and going at you with those nasty things."

"Ew."

"Yeah, ew. So get your ass up and think over what you're going to say _very_ carefully, my dear roommate. I did _not _appreciate having to put the purple rabbit to use last night."

She flounces from the room then, leaving me groaning at the prospect of both elucidating everything for her and the residual bruised feeling from her fucking Attack of the Pillow.

Bitch.

I rub my hands over my eyes, knuckling the sleep-boogers from the corners, and sigh loudly. This will definitely _not_be fun or easy.

-x-

"So, wait, you knew each other from high school?"

"Yes," I sigh, flopping over the back of the couch and leaving my legs to dangle over it. "We were partners in advanced chemistry senior year. And we may or may not have slept together once."

"What? Oh my God, no wonder you're asexual now, if you fucked that beautiful specimen. Every other guy is Quasimodo in comparison."

"Lauren," I complain, "don't say it like that. It wasn't… I mean… God, it wasn't just sex, okay?"

"You said you knew him from a class, and you 'may' have slept together. That makes it just sex," she argues. "You weren't _dating_, right?"

"Right," I admit.

"Then it was just sex."

"Lauren, no, it wasn't, okay? Why do you think he ditched you for me last night if it was just sex?" I burst out, glaring at her upside down.

"Because it was _really__ good_ sex?"

I groan. "No, Lauren, not just _really__ good_. He's the guy I was talking about the night before last. Remember, incineration guy? The one who left the West Coast right after?"

"I didn't actually hear much of whatever you were saying then. You were talking too fast," she argues defensively. "Either tell me again or admit I'm right now. I'm still probably right."

I take a deep breath and slowly start our story, going more in depth this time, from chemistry partners to the moment he dropped me off on Kate's doorstep before leaving.

By the time I'm done, I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch facing her, using my hands excessively and drowning anew in something heavy and dreamlike.

"Oh," she finally says after I've been quiet for a few minutes. "Well, now that may change things. Because that boy was like a cat outta the bathwater—gone as soon as he realized what the hell was going on."

I laugh a little, the tightness in my chest relieving as the movement shakes my heart free of its anchors. "Thanks, Lauren, I appreciate your analogy."

"No, really, Bella, I take it back. If it was just sex, you'd be able to laugh it off, but obviously it's been haunting you for years. Can I ask a few questions?"

"Sure," I answer warily, waving a hand. "Ask away to your heart's desire."

"When you slept around freshman year and I used to hear you crying after every guy left—because of Edward?"

"Erm… yes."

"All the blondes, and only blondes, because they didn't remind you of him?"

"Yeah, probably, but I hadn't really noticed that part until you brought it up."

"The reason you stopped sleeping with guys was because you realized you were in love with him?"

"What?" I squawk, almost falling sideways off the couch. "What? No, no! Dude, Lauren, I only slept with him once and he annoyed the hell out of me before that! It's just… like… chemical attraction or something."

"Bullshit," she snorts. "That's definitely part of it, but it's not all of it, bitch, and don't even try to deny it again."

"I'm not in love with him," I repeat, glaring at her.

"But you could be," she wheedle.

"No, not the way it is right now."

"Yes."

"Uh, no. Now shut up and ask me a different question or something."

"Fine, how do you know you're not in love with him?"

"Ugh," I groan, flopping back away from her and staring up at the ceiling. "Because, Lauren, most of it's physical. If we ever get to know each other emotionally as well, then yeah, it's probable that I might fall in love with him. But I'm _not_ right now, okay?"

"Fine, I believe you," she says easily. I know she's smiling even as I roll my eyes, avoiding her sure-to-be-smug face.

"Whatever," I grumble. "Are we done now?"

"No," Lauren answers immediately. When she starts laughing, I roll off the couch and trudge back down the hallway for a shower. "I love you, Umbrella!" follows my retreat, and I hold up a single eloquent finger back in her direction.

I don't have to say aloud that she's my best friend for a reason.

-x-

"Hello?" I answer, setting down my iced tea and dumping my laptop next to it. I sigh as I settle into my seat at the coffee shop on campus, stretching my legs out underneath the table.

"Are you really that sorry to hear from me?"

My eyes flash open as heat flares under my skin. "Oh! Edward. Uh… Sorry, no, I'm glad to hear from you. I just… I didn't check my caller ID, so I wasn't expecting…"

"Didn't think I'd call, Peach?"

I blush. "Well, it _has_ been almost a week," I say defensively, reaching out for a Sweet 'N Low to stir into my tea.

"I've been settling in," he complains. "Classes started yesterday, remember?"

"No, I missed all of mine." I roll my eyes though he can't see, even as I wish he could.

"Sure you did. I'm positive you forgot all about them."

"Yup. I was too focused on the fact that you hadn't called. I spent all day yesterday staring at my phone instead of going to class. I was an absolute mess," I joke.

"Oh, damn, I'm so sorry, Peach. How about I make it up to you? Want to meet at my apartment?"

I bite my lip, setting my tea down hastily instead of completing its journey to my mouth. "Uh… is that the best idea?"

"I meant to talk, Bella, catch up. You know? My roommate's home, if that makes you feel better."

Is that _hurt_ I detect under his playful prodding?

"Sure, then. Address?" He rattles it off as I frantically look for a pen, laughs and repeats it when I finally find one. "Okay, I'll see you soon?"

"Sure thing, Peach."

"Hey…" I hesitate, then decide to go for it. "How'd you know I was home the other night?"

He's quiet for a moment. "I felt it."

"How?" I press, wanting to know if we're on the same level here, desperate to be sure I'm not alone in this.

"I don't know how to explain it, Bella, I just… I could feel you. Were you at the club with Lauren earlier that night?"

"Yes…" I recall the electric tingles that had caused me to drop my glass, and the warmth that had made me flee to cold air. So it _had_ been him. "I left, though."

"I know. But the only reason I approached Lauren is because… I don't know. If you ever tell anyone, I'll have to kill you, but I wasn't really in control. One minute I'm standing across the club and the next I'm at her table, wondering why what felt right a minute ago, now felt wrong."

"It's because I left," I say softly, curling a piece of my hair around my finger. "I kept looking back at the table too. I thought I'd left my purse behind or something, but… I guess it was you."

"Let's try not to repeat that, Peach. I don't like expecting you and then being left without."

My stomach flutters, and I take a deep breath as I end the call and reach out for my tea. I'll drink it on the go. I'm too eager to see him again to wait and finish it here.

-x-

"Hey," I say, awkwardly shifting my weight from my left to my right foot and fumbling with the strap of my bag. "Er… I'm Bella?"

"I guessed." The guy standing in the doorway is familiar, though where I might know him from is a little fuzzy. "He's not home yet, but he should be here within a half hour. Wanna come in?"

"Uh…" I look up and down the hallway. "You are Edward's roommate, right?" I ask, just to be sure. Don't want to end up in some random guy's apartment at his mercy. Nope, I'm smarter than that. I hope.

"Edward Masen, yeah." He grins at me, leaning against the door frame. "Why? You don't trust me?"

"I don't _know _you," I remind him, smiling a little against my will. "I normally don't trust people I don't know."

He gasps dramatically, clutching a handful of his dark hair. "I'm so offended! How rude! You're going to have to stay out here in the hall to wait."

Confused, I run my finger under the strap of my bag again. "Um… I'm sorry? _Should_ I know you?"

"We only attended the same school for four years, Bella."

I gape at him. "Uh, really? Wow. Er… I mean… people change a lot between high school and college?"

He laughs, and it suddenly springs into place.

"Emmett Cullen!" I snap my fingers as I shout, pointing at him obnoxiously. "Right? _Right_?"

"Right!" he shouts back, hopping up and down melodramatically. "And you're Bella Swan!"

"Right!" I shake my head, laughing at him and the situation. "Are you still teaching soccer to the kids?"

"Come on in, we can talk easier in here. Plus," he drops his voice to a whisper, "there's a pervert down the hall who likes to stare at me. I feel like she wants to lick me, which is gross, and she's like psychic, I swear she knows every single time I open the door."

I duck under his arm and glance around. For guys, they aren't that messy—I'm ashamed to admit that Lauren and I are actually much worse. It's a small but comfortable living room that opens up into the kitchen, separated by the bar. I let my bag slide down my arm, setting it next to the door as I wander over to the navy sectional and plop down. The material is soft, and, when I inhale, smells faintly of Edward.

Which I like.

A lot.

"So?" I turn back to Emmett, pretending I haven't just been sitting on his couch with my eyes closed.

"So what?"

"How've you been for the last three and a half years?" I tuck my foot under the opposite leg, leaning my elbow on the back of the couch.

"Fine. I'm starting my last year at Seattle University. I'm an English major," he supplies, shrugging. "You?"

"Last year at U-Dub, International Business major. You never said if you were still teaching soccer?"

"The proper term is actually coaching, but yeah." A grin splits across his face, his eyes lighting up. "I'm working with one of the youth leagues in Seattle right now, and I still help out with my dad's kids whenever I get back home. I don't think I'll ever give it up, you know?"

"What exactly do you like about it so much? I mean, why don't you play yourself?"

"I feel better coaching than I do playing. Sure, it's fun to be on the team, but I've never been all that into competition. I like feeling as if I'm part of something, and you get that more from youth leagues than in competitive older play. Once you grow up, you're competing against your own teammates for playing time and skill and, fuck, even the hot chicks on the sidelines. Coaching is more relaxing, not so nasty."

In those few sentences, I feel like Emmett Cullen has been summed up. We'd never said more than a few words to each other in high school, and I wonder why that was. We didn't have much in common then, maybe?

I like to think that we now have one very important person in common.

"That's pretty deep," I note, wondering if my surprise is noticeable on my face.

He shrugs. "I guess you can call it chicken salad if you want to, it's just how it is."

Smirking, I roll my eyes. "Call it chicken salad? Haven't heard that in ages, since I was little."

"I like to throw stuff out there every once in a while," he says, leaning back into the couch and spreading his arms. "Can I ask you something?"

Slightly taken aback, I nod. "Sure, it's only fair."

"Did Edward leave so soon after graduation because of you?"

I pause, pursing my lips and tilting my head. "I'm not sure, honestly. Part of me thinks yes, and part of me thinks I was just some girl and I didn't have that kind of power."

Bullshit, it was totally what happened between us that ran him off. We were just kids who'd been entirely freaked out and scared when we jumped from the shallow pool into the deeper water by accident. When it had closed over our heads, drowning us in each other, both of us fought to break the surface again and breathe normally.

I can't believe I'm almost looking forward to diving in again, willingly instead of obliviously. Hopefully we'll have oxygen tanks this time, so we won't have to surface.

Emmett looks at me seriously, and I straighten in response. "Look, Bella, we didn't talk much but you always seemed nice to me in high school. But sometimes even nice girls can be dangerous for a guy, you know?"

My brow furrows. "Not really. Explain."

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm almost positive whatever you and Edward did the night of that party is the reason he booked it out of town five weeks sooner than he'd originally been planning. Whatever happened between you scared the shit out of him or hurt him; I didn't ask which, but it was one of the two, maybe both. Even when the guy's across the country talking to me on the phone, I can tell when he's lying to me."

He sighs heavily and stares at me. I shiver, moving my arm in toward my body, suddenly chilled.

"You're a nice girl, or you were at least. But he'd never reacted like that before. You're dangerous, Bella. You don't understand how much control you have over him, or what you could do to him with that power. And quite frankly, I'm afraid for him. He'd kick my ass if he knew I were having this conversation with you, but it's necessary. I don't want him fleeing for the fucking east coast again. I'm going to do everything I can to prevent that."

I stare, flushed, my pulse pounding in my temples and my head floating dizzily. "I'm not going to hurt him, Emmett, I promise."

"You didn't mean to last time," he reminds me gently. "And he didn't mean to either, but both of you were more affected than you'd like to admit. He's a bit wiser now, and you should be too. If you get involved, you both know it won't just be sex."

"I know," I mutter, breaking away from his gaze. His eyes are a much darker blue than they have right to be.

"Do you really?"

I nod, swallowing harshly. "Yeah," I answer quietly. "I want more out of this than a one-night stand."

"How much more?"

"I don't… I don't know yet. I don't know what he's willing to give, and it's not like I'm going to demand anything or take it from him by force. He has a choice in this as much as I do."

"That's the thing, Bella. Is it really a choice, for either of you?"

My blood tumbles through my veins in a rush, flinging heat over me like a blanket, and I can hear my heart thumping strongly, can feel it in my abdomen, neck, temples, wrists. I recall the blinding need to be near Edward, to touch him, to spend as much of my time as I can with him. The electric pull between us seems purposeful, as if we had been designed that way, opposite charges to attract and fill our empty, searching valence shells.

It isn't a choice. It isn't an accident. It just… is. We're meant to be two components of a covalent bond, not the ions that were the result of our broken relations in high school. We complete each other.

Holy shit, that's crazy. _I_ am crazy. _We_ are crazy. But it works, somehow. I'm just never going to admit I ever thought that.

I'm saved from answering as the door to the apartment is flung open, a disheveled, panting Edward falling through just a moment later. I stare over at him, partially in shock for his grand entrance and partially because I can't control my eyes around him—Emmett is already laughing.

"Owww," Edward groans from the floor, rolling over and letting his bag fall off. "Holy shit, that hurt. Fucking pervert…"

"Nice, bro, I'd give that a 3.41 on the Richter scale. I swear some poor country just fell in the ocean as soon as your fat ass landed," Emmett sniggers. "Is Ms. Perv patrolling today, then?"

I let out a startled laugh, and Edward tilts his head back to look at me. "Damn, I was hoping to beat you here. I ran from the bus stop."

"Sorry, I trained with the Flash." I shrug and get off the couch, walking over to help him up off the floor. "You okay, Heavy Weight?"

"Are you calling me fat?" Edward's eyes widen comically, and I purse my lips to keep from laughing, waving my helpful hand in front of him.

"Maybe."

"Hmph. Then you shouldn't be offering to help me. My overweight body would cause you to topple down on me… on second thought, give me that hand."

I help him up off the floor, his callused hand enveloping mine and shooting zings of energy through my nervous system. Chemical reaction, or just a normal male-female thing?

"I can't believe you got here before me," he complains, stretching out once he stands in front of me. As his arms lift, fingers linking over his head, his gray t-shirt rises to reveal the dark coarse hairs that trail over his abdomen and disappear under the waist of his black jeans. I quickly avert my eyes as a flash of heat blossoms inside me, unfurling as a moonflower does at the slightest touch of silver in the night.

"Like I said, me and the Flash are cool with each other. We go on morning jogs around the world every day." I try to keep my face serious as he smirks down at me, his lashes dark and his irises light.

"Oh, that explains it. I usually hang out with Poison Ivy in the mornings. She's teaching me how to grow plants that'll help me take over the world. Some even hold you fast people down." He drops an eyebrow, reaching up to tug on my scarf a little. It feels like he missed and grabbed my heartstrings instead. "Aren't you hot in this? Why are you still wearing your shoes? Go on, make yourself at home. I'll even give you a tour."

"I forgot. Emmett and I got to talking." I glance over my shoulder while I unwind my scarf, smiling slightly at Edward's roommate. He grins back, nodding at me as we silently end our previous conversation. We both know the answer.

"Really." Edward's eyes flicker between us before he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, grabbing mine and draping them both over his forearm. I wonder why I've never noticed what nice forearms men had. Or maybe I just study him in much greater detail than I ever did for anybody else. It would explain why the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles causes a flood of melted brain to clog my system.

"Come on, I'll give you a quick tour. Toe your shoes off by the door," he orders. I hastily kick my Keds off. The contrast between my white canvas shoes and his dark leather boots is almost as comical as the contrast between us, and just as endearing as I could hope for.

I hate myself for how I sound around him, what he reduces me to.

He takes three steps and then turns to face me, the damn smirk in place as he motions with his free hand toward the couch and TV. "That's the living room. Emmett is usually in the corner with the armchair, curled around his laptop or a book. I'm usually asleep on homework spread across the couch."

I laugh, remembering how the couch had smelled more like him than anything else. The explanation is simple as it is unexpected.

"This," he says, gesturing the opposite way, "is obviously the kitchen." Turning, he continues down a narrow hallway off the living room. "Bathroom. It's probably a little messy today—tomorrow's deep-clean day," he mutters, pointing at the appropriate door.

A few steps down the hallway, he pauses. "Emmett's room is down at the end of the hall. This is mine."

I sweep my gaze over his decently sized room, taking in the pale wood floors, the clear garbage can full of dead pens and crumpled balls of paper, and the plants.

So he hadn't been joking that night. He does garden.

The room smells mildly spicy and slightly floral, a strange but potent mix. Pots of plants sit along a shelf over his desk, some bright with flowers and others green without. I think back to his parents' house—it had been dark that night, but I recall walking by it occasionally when it was light out, before I'd ever set foot inside. There had always been pretty greenery outside, along the path and in the planters under the windows in front of the house. I'd always figured they had a gardener or that Mrs. Masen enjoyed the sunlight when she could by pruning her shrubs, but it had been him all along.

It was always him.

"Sorry it's not clean," he says, dropping our jackets and my scarf over the foot of his bed, "I didn't plan to invite you over until we talked earlier on the phone."

"I don't mind." I mean it. The mess is honest, and it tells stories about him that he might never tell me himself. I wander over to the plant on his bedside table, pressing the pad of my finger to the velvety softness of a deeply purple flower. "These are really pretty. Lavender?"

His soft chuckle fills the otherwise quiet room, the sound warm and smooth, like a shot of whiskey. "No, those are hyacinths. Don't you know anything about plants?"

I blush, looking at him over my shoulder. "Not really," I admit sheepishly. "I just know they're pretty, they recycle air, and sometimes they smell nice or have herbal properties. Oh, and they grow in dirt and eat sunlight and water."

He laughs again, stepping closer and crouching down next to my leg, in front of the small plant. "Well, like I said, these are hyacinths. They come in a lot of colors, but I personally like the purple because of what they stand for."

"What d'you mean?" I ask, staring down at the top of his head. His hair is dark at the roots, and has that soft look of having been washed recently. I resist the urge to run my fingers down the back of his neck, from his hair to just beneath the collar of his shirt, where his skin calls to my own.

"Back in history, most plants and flowers had specific meanings attached to them. They were used to communicate, sometimes, between lovers and friends in Victorian society. Purple hyacinths are apologies, asking for forgiveness. I'm not religious, so I depend on these to free me from guilt sometimes."

At this, I can't help but to rest my hand gently on his warm shoulder. "I never knew any of that."

"A lot of people don't." His voice is quiet, and he doesn't move his gaze from the small plant. "My mother showed me. I never learned that flowers were girly—I'm an only child, so she'd take me outside to garden with her when I was little. I liked to help her, so I'd follow her around slopping water out of the can instead of on the plants, and she'd let me, telling me stories about the plants. I grew up on them, and it kind of became our thing. By the time I realized most guys didn't care about flowers beyond giving them for dates in the hopes of getting in some girl's pants, I was already too far into it."

I swallow, feeling my breathing deepen and my eyes prickle as I looked back at the unassuming blossoms.

"Some of my favorite memories are gardening with my mom. The summer we planted our lemon tree was good, but the poor thing's stunted by all the damn rain and frost in the winter months. We never quite learned how to protect it from frost correctly." He sighs, my hand rising and falling with the movement of air in and out of his chest. "I wish I'd thought about some way to protect _her_, you know?"

"Edward, nobody could have known," I murmur softly, sinking onto the bed until I'm at his level, tightening my fingers in his shirt. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Logically, I know that, but I still feel like I failed there, too." He raises his eyes to mine again, and the sadness in them breaks through me, dragging me into him. He's stiff in my arms at first, until he falls back onto his butt and crushes me against him, breathing me in as if to mask the scent of his fear.

"She'll be okay," I whisper, biting my lip and fighting to breathe properly. "She's got you. She won't give up."

"But—"

"Edward." I draw back to look at him, sweeping a few hairs back from his wrinkled forehead and sorrowful eyes. The green is dark, drowning in bitter memories and worried futures. "Listen to me. Your mom is sick, that's true. But she's not going to let you come all the way back across the country just to give up once you're here. She'll fight for you, just like anyone who loves you would. You can't give up on the people you love."

He closes his eyes before slowly leaning into me, his breath hot on my collarbone as it stutters. "Can you just… give me a few minutes, please."

My chest aches as I hold him, assuring me that our bond is still in place, spreading from hips to hearts.

-x-

As time passes, things grow less awkward between us. Our edges rounded out, sanded down, until they're smooth and slippery against each other. A quiet kind of comfort fills the spaces between us after that day in his room when he explained about his gardening. Since then, the past two weeks have been easier than almost anything else in my life.

I'd struggled to form my relationships in the past. When I first befriended Kate, in eighth grade, I thought she was insane, so I carried a book around the first few weeks to hide behind. The new girl was a freak. It took me a month to realize I was more like her than I'd have freely admitted, and another few weeks to really _get_her.

With Lauren, it took us almost a semester to decide we liked each other enough to consider each other actually friends. From there, it sped up—it only took us eighteen days after the semester's end to decide that we'd room together the next year.

But with Edward, I'm falling into this whatever-we-are so rapidly. It's both exhilarating and frightening, for someone who have never grown so close to someone else so quickly or thoroughly. I've gone from knowing nothing about him to completing his sentences.

I yawn as I wait for someone to answer my knock. I've just gotten done with school for the day, and their apartment is actually closer than mine. Plus, I haven't seen more than two hours of Edward since Sunday, and I kind of miss him, if I'm being honest.

Emmett opens their door, dressed in long basketball shorts and a black shirt. "Hey, Ma. Come on in, he's back in his room. Tell him I'm gonna be out for a while, will you? I'm hanging out with some of the guys—time to show off my coaching skills." He winks at me as he grabs his bag from the floor, ruffling my hair when he stands back up. We've become somewhat friends over the past few weeks—albeit, annoying friends.

"Thanks," I say acidly, rolling my eyes as I swat his arm. "Go away, _son._"

"Original, Ma, very original," he teases as he steps out into the hallway. "Give Edward my love!"

"Shut up," I mumble, closing the door behind his laughing ass.

I sigh and head back through the apartment to Edward's room.

His eyes flicker up to mine as I stand in the doorway, hesitating, and a smile immediately flashes across his face, though he makes no move to get up.

"Hi." I bite my lip nervously, glancing around before walking in to sit at his desk chair.

"Too far," he reprimands, smirking now, spring blooming into deep forest as his eyes darken. I make to get up, think better of it, and drag the chair closer to the bed, propping my foot up on his mattress and tilting onto the back legs of the chair. His fingers twine around my ankle, delicate licks of flame stirring the eternal embers of a wildfire long ago extinguished by time and space. "Good, this is good. Now, what brings the pretty Peach into my den of sin? And why are you wearing shorts when it's freezing outside?"

I laugh, curling my toes and enjoying the tickling pads of his fingers as they absentmindedly stroke sensitive skin. "Den of sin? Cute, Masen, come up with that yourself?"

Edward shrugs, grinning at me, and props his head back on his other hand, looking down at his book again. "Fine, don't tell me. But shut up unless you're going to help me summarize this data on neural and hormonal systems and how they affect learning, perception, and motivation."

I snort quietly, rolling my eyes and watching him. His hair falls forward in front, hanging in front of his eyes, and he keeps pausing to sweep it back. As his fingers brush through it again, my thighs clench slightly. God, I want to replace his hand with mine, to run it through bronze locks of startling softness. Instead, I focus on the tendons in his forearm, the skin-covered veins and bones of his hand as it caress my foot. The iPod on the dock streamed something at a low volume on the desk, satisfying what would have been—still is—a very charged silence.

His scent floods my senses as I sit by his bedside, spicy and a little musky, assaulting my mind with images of our past. From sitting next to him while we took notes on valence electrons to the blackness of my eyelids as he ran his hands up my sides to rid me of my dress, it was all there in his smell. Now small hints of the plants in his room swirl into the mix, heady and earthy and floral, soothing to his exciting.

I close my eyes now, relaxing in the chair and reveling in his presence and the constant stirring in my blood where we're connected. I like this, that I can feel so charged around him, so vivacious and alive. Remembering back to when he first started dancing with me at that party, I recall thinking he was sharing his vibrancy with me, his startling capacity for _life_, how just being around him woke up everything in me.

His fingers continue to stroke the sensitive skin of my ankle and the top of my foot as my thoughts quiet, the only sounds in the room our breathing, the turning of pages in his textbook, and the slight noise his highlighter makes scraping across the words. Warm and comfortable, I allow myself to remember the dream I'd had the night Lauren brought him back home.

-x-

"Peach?"

"Hmmm?" I yawn, my eyelids fluttering open slowly.

He's still on the bed, but he's sitting up now, his book pushed aside and my foot in his lap. The lighting in the room is different, more orangey-pink instead of weak yellow—the sun is setting. The smirk on his face instantly wakes me up, and I smile sheepishly as I straighten. "Geez, I'm sorry. How long was I out for? Was I snoring, or talking, or whistling? I didn't mean to disturb you…"

My smile widens at the sound of his enthusiastic laughter, as if the sound controls the quirk of my lips, as if _his_ reactions dictate _mine_.

"No, not at all. You're quiet as a freight train barreling along at full speed on rickety rails." I kick out with my foot, hitting his hipbone, and he continues chuckling. "Fine, fine, I'm kidding. I didn't even notice you'd fallen asleep until I tried asking you if you wanted anything to drink."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," I answer, rubbing my eyes with my fists and slouching in the chair again. "I can't believe I fell asleep. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It's my fault for being as interesting as painting primer."

"Painting primer isn't uninteresting," I counter, another yawn tearing through me. He doesn't need to know he's the most interesting thing in my life—or, at least, what I feel for and with him is.

Edward laughs again. "Bullshit."

Grinning, I shrug. "I don't mind. I didn't want to disturb you anyway, just… I haven't seen you for a few days, so I figured I'd drop by. And then you made me sit down and I guess I was just exhausted."

"It's fine, Peach, don't even worry about it. I really don't mind in the least. You're pretty when you sleep."

I glance up at him to see his eyes seeking mine, and swallow harshly at the emotions whirling in the depths of his gaze. It amazes me sometimes, looking at him like this, because his eyes aren't just _green_. They're gray- and blue- and golden-green, as if an artist accidentally dropped his palette and the colors had swirled together as a result of the chaos, startling and beautiful.

Everything beautiful begins in chaos.

Look at us. We're living proof.

"Sure. I'm gorgeous no matter what I'm doing—rolling in mud, going to the bathroom, slathering calamine lotion all over my bug bites…"

He shakes his head, grinning. "I'm not gonna lie—maybe not then. But you're relaxed when you sleep, and I like knowing that you trust me enough to let your guard down around me."

Blood boils under my skin, rising to my cheeks, and I hastily look away. "Yeah, well, I know your full name so I'm sure you wouldn't be stupid enough to take advantage of me like that," I say awkwardly, flinching away from the real issue—trust.

Do I trust him? Sure, I trust him to give me a lift should I need one, or to teach me about electrons and chemistry and electricity, or, hell, to make me forget everything but us just by brushing against me.

But that's all physical. That's the easy part. You can give someone your body, but it's so much harder to give them your mind and your soul, let alone a vulnerable _heart_.

He narrows his gaze at me, eyelashes dangerous as they lower like shiny dark needles, but doesn't respond. We sit quietly for a moment before I sigh and nudge him with my foot again. "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm just… still trying to figure everything out."

"There's nothing _to _figure out, Peach." His tone is just a smidge harsher than I'm used to, and I frown. He sets my foot aside and stands, stretching nonchalantly and running a hand through his flattened hair.

His shaking fingertips give him away.

"Fine, let's keep burying that conversation and putting it off. But I'm warning you now that we won't go any further without talking about what happened," I snap, rising out of my own chair. The front legs let out a muffled thump as they land on his carpet. "_I_ can't go any further."

His hand closes around my elbow as I attempt to brush past him, and anger licks up my spine, bursting into flame as it reaches the tender kindling most often referred to as the heart. I try to yank my arm away, but he pulls me close, crushing me against him, and my body automatically, traitorously, melts into his, my arms twining around him so that my fists can grab handfuls of his shirt. When he breathes in, I move with him; his air is mine, filled with fear and anxiety and something deeper than either of those.

"Look, we'll talk, I promise, but… not now, okay? I still need to figure out what happened."

"We _both_ do, and I think talking about it together might make more sense of it, so we're not suffocating on our own or trying to wade through tar."

"I get that, I d—Did you just compare all of this to tar?" he asks, drawing back to look at me quizzically.

"It's sticky," I mutter, biting back my embarrassed grin.

He bursts out laughing, and the tension breaks as his lower register harmonizes with my higher. His embrace becomes less of a constraint and more of a leisure, both of us relaxing again. His arms circle my waist, long fingers slipping into the belt loops of my shorts, pressing and holding me to his hips until our bodies are flushed and aligned. "Hungry? I haven't eaten since before my second class, and I'm _starving_."

"Do you even have any food in your refrigerator?" I mock. "Last I looked, there was moldy cheese and a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose."

"It's almost entirely empty now, thank you," he sniffs. "But I was asking if you wanted to go out."

"You need to work on your word choice," I teases, though my heart is doing the pitter-patter-stomp. "But yeah, that'd be great."

"Want a jacket?" he asks, drawing back to look down at my hot-weather clothing. "It's raining again."

His fingers softly stroke against the side of my hip, slipping under the hem of my shirt, pushing it up just slightly to brush against my skin. Heat radiates from the point of contact, and I swallow harshly. "Er… what?"

"Do you want a jacket?" he repeats, chuckling.

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great," I finally answer, snapping out of the skin-to-skin coma I so often slip into in his presence. "Do you mind?"

"I wouldn't offer if I did."

"You might," I argue, shrugging. His hands fall from my hips, and I fight back the deep frown marring my face. _Wait!__ I __take __it __back!__ You __wouldn__'__t!__ Just __put __your __damn__ hands __back __on__ me!_

"Does it matter what color jacket it is?" He steps toward his closet, cracking it open as if he doesn't want me seeing inside. It's not like his room isn't messy enough to have my skin crawling, if I was the type to be bothered by that sort of thing.

"No." I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"The kind to wear thigh-highs," he responds immediately, and thumps his head on the closet door slowly, as if punishing himself for being honest with me.

I snort. "No talking about it right now, remember? Keep the thigh-highs to yourself—I hope they bring you much pain."

"You're evil. You always have been," he mutters as he tosses a gray jacket toward me, following it with a purple scarf I recognize from my own closet. "You left that here last time, evil one."

"No, no, you're Evil One. I'm Evil Two, or too, depending. Get it straight, Edward."

"Shut up," he grumbles, his teeth flashing at me harmlessly before he pulls on a black leather jacket with a hood. "Ready?"

"Yeah, like you said—starving. I'm always hungry when I wake up."

"I'll keep that in mind—useful information, that is, for the future and all."

"You planning to be around when I wake up next time, Masen?"

He's quiet for a moment, and I want to close his dresser drawer on my head. I'm _so_ queen of awkward. I recall the way I'd brought up the other girls as we were driving to his house the night of the party, and the way everything had fallen apart briefly then as it's doing now.

"Yeah. I think I am."

My heart stutters and I glance up at him, hopeful and equally scared, postponing my inner pity-party. "Yeah?"

"Definitely. I can only take so much of Maryland before I want to shoot someone." Despite his words, the intensity in his eyes causes my stomach to clench, and I offer him a timid smile.

"Good. Now can we please go eat?"

"God, you're impatient." As he lets us out of his apartment, his ears are slightly pink from his statements, and his hand seeks mine, our fingers twisting together like a Twizzler, sweet and firm and just a wee bit sticky. "Come on, I know just the place."

"How's school?" I ask, my hip bumping into his as I walk. He hasn't yet complained about it, but whenever we walk together I have a habit of stepping too close and connecting some part of me with him, whether it's my hand brushing his or the fabric of our jeans scratching together.

"I hate my lectures on Thursdays, but it's fine other than that. The professor apparently doesn't quite understand his topic, so it gets a little confusing." He leads us to the stairwell, pulling the door open for me and continuing down the stairs as he talks. "Then there's this girl who sits behind me, and I swear to God, she's flaying my clothes off my body in her mind. It's so discomforting. This whole goddamn world is full of pervs, isn't it?"

I think about Lauren, agree silently, and then chide myself, recalling my own thoughts where Edward's concerned. "Yes, yes it is."

He sighs heavily, a small smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. God, I want to kiss him. It's been too long. "I don't suppose you have any ideas for getting all of them away from me?"

"Only the soft-core ones."

"Share anyway," he pleads, grinning up at me from the step below. The gray concrete behind him sets a contrast between his light eyes and dark hair.

"Get off the market," I suggest, smiling slightly. "They'll go cry in a corner. But like I said, the hardcore ones may continue to watch anyway."

"Me, off the market?" he gasps. "I'm scandalized! How could you suggest such a thing, Peach?"

I roll my eyes, pushing against his back lightly. "Keep walking, Masen."

He doesn't move, turning to face me instead. "You know, I don't think I will. I'm curious about this idea of yours, this absurd 'off the market' thing. I may have jumped the gun on my reaction. Tell me more."

I laugh, my skin bursting with sudden pink blooms under the touch of his eyes. "Over dinner?"

"No, now," he says, and steps closer, until we're on level, inches separating us. The comfort and awkwardness has disappeared, filling the space with enough energy to run a steam-powered electric plant. "I'm very interested in what you might have to say, Peach, absolutely riveted to hear what's spinning around in that head of yours."

Swallowing, I bite my lip and shrug. "I was just suggesting that the girls who stare at you all the time wanting to lick you would probably be heartbroken and put off if you were… you know… if you looked like you were serious with someone. They'd all go… cry in a corner if you were taken. Or something. And, the hardcore ones, they'll probably like watching you and… your… girlfriend or whatever…"

"You're awkward about this," he observes, squeezing my hand just slightly. If I could ever somehow forget he was touching me, I would have been shocked by this. But, as always, I'm all too aware of him. I haven't forgotten. It still doesn't fail to send a zinging shock through my central nervous system. I worry briefly that hanging out with him will make me brain dead as the routers in my nerves explode.

"I am not," I argue feebly. "It's just a weird topic, that's all. We're discussing the pervs who fuck you with their entirely too forward eyes."

"No, we're not. At least, I'm not. I was under the impression we were talking about me being on the market, actually," he disagrees. His voice is low, rougher than usual, and the green is forest black; my heart starts hop-scotching irregularly in response.

"Oh," I mumble pathetically.

"Oh? That's it? What's your opinion on the matter?" he asks, stepping onto my step until we're pressed flush against each other. I back up to lean against the wall, overwhelmed, and he follows, his heat scalding and his body as firm as his voice.

"I…"

He lifts his free hand and pulls my lip from my teeth. "Stop it. Only I get to abuse your poor lip like that," he murmurs, and then fire descends on me, scalding me to the core as his soft mouth lowers to mine.

I can't recall the feeling of my first kiss with him. I'd been buzzed, and it hadn't seemed like such a big deal. It had been before we had sex, so I wasn't even aware of our potential energy—all I knew was that he was a very cute boy, a superb dancer, and we were attracted to each other.

But now, now I can feel it racing through me, setting my heart to a thundering that tears through my body. His lips are soft, if a little dry, and I don't care because it's only the pressure—the pressure of his mouth on mine, of his hands moving to my hips, of his hips pressing me back against the cold cement. The pressure pushes us together, into one, and I want to be that, to be one, to be his and for him to be mine.

"Off the market," I gasp, breaking away for just a moment. "You should definitely be off the market."

"Yeah?" he breathes. "Wanna help me with that?"

"If you kiss me like this all the time, then yeah, I'm definitely up for it," I answer, pulling him back into me by his jacket. The leather is warm in my hands, and I am warm in his.

"Peach," he murmurs, dragging his lips down my neck to speak against my collarbone. The vibrations from his voice travel through the marrow, into my neurons, spreading until they're pulsing through my bloodstream. My heart stutters in rhythm. "Dinner?"

"Now?" I'm ashamed to note my question echoed through the stairwell in a suspiciously whiny tone.

His laughter against my skin sends shudders spreading down my spine. "We need energy, don't we?"

"Do we?" I question breathlessly.

"We're in public anyway," he reminds me, gently disengaging himself, pulling his leg from between mine and letting his grip on my waist loosen. He drops a soft kiss against the skin of my neck, and I sigh.

"I guess you're right. But can we hurry?"

"Can you keep up, Peach?"

I level my gaze on him and have the pleasure of feeling his breath stutter where his chest is still pressed against mine. "Please," I snort. "I'll lead."

The small place where we eat is just across the street, a Mexican food restaurant with quick service and decent food. The salsa must influence our conversation, because it's ripe with innuendos and neither of us allows the other to settle down for even a moment. I shrug out of my borrowed jacket three minutes after we settle into our booth, Edward following my example not two minutes later. The words are low and sensual as they flow between us, until finally we're running across the street, pinkies linked and laughing as we dodge traffic, peppermint melting sweetly on our tongues.

Edward leads the way into his apartment, his hand fumbling with the key until we burst into the dark living room. I drop my purse and our jackets to the floor, toe off my shoes, and turn to launch myself at him.

I don't care that we haven't discussed our past; the knowledge of our future blots everything else out, including my earlier claim that we'd not be moving forward. I was insane for thinking that, anyway. I never have a hope for control where he's concerned.

His hands sweeps against the flesh of my waist before grasping me and walking me backwards to slam against a wall, his lips already sucking on mine, his knee pressing between my legs as they willingly part. My nails scratch down his neck, over his t-shirt, until they curled around the bottom, yanking it up. He pulls back, breaking away to toss it over his head before his hands are back on me, one at my breast, the other dipping to fumble at the top button on the side of my shorts.

"Bella," he gasps, his breath hot against my cheek. "Peach, I need you to get my belt. Now."

Air rushes through my lips in a restrained moan, my hands dropping to his belt buckle faster than a shooting star clears the sky. I don't want this opportunity to disappear. I want to wish on it forever, wish _for _it forever.

The metal is cool, such a contrast to the heated skin my fingers brush against as I struggle to get it off, out of our way. His abdominal muscles clench in anticipation at the brief contact, and my head rolls back.

"Shirt, off," I groan, my eyes squinting against the bright excitement that's blinding them.

The side effects of our bonding seem to include flashes of light, heat, motion… and something like a black hole, pulling us toward each other, shifting gravity and sucking us into a vortex where only I and he and we exist. A supernova, caused by a simple chemical reaction, a miniscule shift in the universe.

The hand at my shorts lifts to the edge of my shirt, and I abandon my attempts at his belt buckle momentarily, letting him drag the fabric over my head, between us, for just a second. As soon as it's past my elbows, I rush to throw it away, arching into him as his mouth attaches to my collarbone, blood rushing to the surface under his affections.

"Belt," he reminds me, his voice guttural and rushed, nothing like the silk I'm so accustomed to.

Finally, finally, my fumbling fingers finish at the clasp, grabbing the leather and tugging, his hips slamming into rough contact with my own. The noises falling from our mouths are eerily similar, full of wanton lust and the overwhelming urge to lose ourselves in each other, to be together.

"Hurry," he whispers, dragging his teeth lightly over my skin and following with a flat tongue. My eyes roll back as I slump against the wall for the shortest second, my hands jerking him into me again. By this point I'm not sure if they're still struggling to rid him of the belt or if they're using it as a way to grind his hips into mine.

I drop it as soon as it's free of the last belt loop, immediately dipping my fingers under the waistline of his jeans, dragging them from hip to hip as I turn my head to kiss his temple. He lifts his face to mine, pulling my hips forward and sliding his hands behind me to unclasp my bra, the straps sliding down my arms under their own power. I let the garment fall off before trailing my hands back up his arms to his shoulders, using them and the wall as leverage to sling both of my legs around his hips.

Edward's hands find purchase on my ass as he stumbles away from the support of the wall, guiding us clumsily down the hallway. The wood of his bedroom door is cool and hard against my back as he leans us into it, panting into my throat.

"Can you get the door handle, Peach?"

"Too busy groping my ass to get it yourself?" I ask breathlessly, reaching behind me for the door knob and twisting.

"You know me," he answers throatily, punctuating with a nip at my collarbone. "I love your ass."

We almost fall through the doorway in our eagerness before I'm against a wall again, my hands tangled in his hair, my lips moving against his, feeling him grinding against me through two layers of denim.

"If you love it so much," I struggle for air, inhaling what he exhales, "why is it still covered by clothes?"

"Your buttons are fucking ridiculous," he complains, hips working into mine despite the obstacles. "Why the fuck are they on the side?"

I don't bother responding, but instead use my hands to hold his head against me. His hair is slightly damp now, his chest rising and falling as he gasps.

"Bella, God, this is… this feels… holy shit."

"Yeah," I moan. "Fuck, I know, believe me."

"It's not just… physical."

Something in his voice reaches the part of my brain drowning in the emotional level of this encounter, and I softly kiss his jaw, slowing my responses to him. "I know that too," I whisper. "It's more."

His hands slide up to my ribs and I shiver against him, longing and fear and desire rippling through me. "More," he repeats, softly, meeting my eyes. "_Much_ more."

The raging fire dulls to a warm smolder as he kisses me, soft but oh so passionate.

"I need to feel you," he murmurs, lips moving against mine. "Can you get your own shorts?"

He helps me slide down his body to stand, his hands gentle on my hips. I make short work of the side-buttons, dropping my shorts and glancing at him to see his progress.

Lust sparks through me as I lay eyes on him, jeans and boxer-briefs pooled on the floor at his feet as he straightens up again, his hungry gaze sweeping over my body.

I bite my lip as he steps forward again, his rough fingers looping through my panties and shoving them down before he presses up against me, our bodies aligning in familiar ways, hands finding purchase.

"Fuck," he groans, looking toward his bedside table and making to move away. "Condom."

"Birth control," I retort, squeezing his hip as he meets my eyes again. "It's fine. I want you like this. You're clean?"

"Peach, god, yes." Edward swallows, taking a moment to lift me up and brace me against the wall. "This won't be soft."

"You better not be soft," I whisper. "I'd probably cry if you were."

His laughter shakes us both, and I grin at him, my smile turning into an open-mouthed gasp as he fills me.

Nothing has changed between us, physically, in the past three years. We still react to each other in the same way, so aware of one another, so all-encompassed by the electricity that snap-crackle-pops between us. The only difference between now and then is that we know exactly what we're getting into, know to expect the swirling typhoon we'll be lost in. There won't be any running from it, because we've accepted its inevitability. Whatever this is, whatever it turns us into, is too omnipotent to escape.

Our bodies melt to fill the gaps and spaces between us, soft sounds coaxing the flame to higher temperatures. I know my back will probably bruise from the wall behind me, but at the moment I don't feel it—I'm focused entirely on the pull and return of our hips as they partake in a give-and-take older than the first single molecule of this world. The black hole has swallowed us entirely, dragging a veil over everything that isn't each other. We're trapped in heat and sound and slick skin and grasping fingers and probing mouths; everything else ceases to exist.

My name drops to brush against my heart every time it escapes his lips against mine, tethering me to him, tightening the bond and pulling me further into him, faster, deeper. When the stars burst into light again, the black hole withdrawing for a single millisecond, I lose it, forcing everything into his name.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, and he leans forward to support my slumping body, his hips pressing close and tight and fast, the fingers gripping my waist and thigh digging in deeply. "Bella… Peach… I can't… holy shit…"

I stare into his eyes, willing him to fall, assuring him that I'll be there to catch him. "Edward," I whisper, my arms tightening around his shoulders. "I'm here, right here."

"I can't help this… fuck… Bella, it's never…"

"Been like this," I gasp as he arches into me again. "I know."

"Not since… you and I… before."

The need to kiss him rolls over me, dragging me out to sea as I press my lips to his, grounding him as he crests.

"I know," I soothe, panting, my arms tight around his shoulders as my body loses the effort to support itself, hands softly brushing through his hair.

His breathing slows against my neck, warm and pungent, his fingers loosening their grip as he becomes something gentler, sweeter, his body joining mine in the satisfying fragility of afterglow. "Hang on, Peach," he murmurs as he adjusts his grip.

I squeeze him with what little muscle control I have left as he stumbles back from the wall, happily spent, to set me on the edge of his bed. I crawl to the headboard and slide back the covers, watching him through tired eyes as he crosses the room again to his dresser and begins pulling out clothes. In between one flutter of my tired eyelids and the next, he's back, slipping in beside me, turning on his side to face me. The blazing wildfire in his eyes has dulled to embers, affectionate and pleasant, as he reaches down to pull a pair of his boxers up my legs. The tender movement gives me reason to pause for a moment before I roll toward him.

Edward's leg slips between mine, and I move forward to press my face against the nook where his neck meets his shoulder, tucking my head under his chin and breathing in his unfiltered scent as my eyelashes flutter against his skin. His arms circle around me as we turn until I'm lying half-on his body, our legs entwined, my hair fanned out across my sticky back and part of his chest.

"Edward?" I whisper, my eyes closed as sleep sprinkles its influence over my body.

His chest rumbles with the humming noise that is his response.

I hesitate, unsure of what I had meant to say, and he squeezes me once, a silent urge to continue. "Just… never mind. I think you already know," I whisper, my muscles relaxing into him.

-x-

AN

-x-

I don't plan on there being more Peachward, but, hey, the kid may just knock me flat one day.

Thank you, as ever, to my pretty bb's:

IcelandGirl812, because she's funny, pervy, and she likes to stroke my ego when she prereads for Peachward. Also, because she reminded me of the term 'nook,' which I forgot fourteen fucking times while writing this. I was calling it niche, crook, ect for ages. Also, she puts him in a locker room with her Shopward and steals their clothes and then tweets at me about it until my blue eyes go green with jealousy.

As for cocomama101… well, she's always been supportive of me, even around her own writing time for _Breathe_. And she takes good care of Peachward when she gets him. Her life has been hectic as of late, and the lady still loves me enough to mail me a birthday card from _all the way across the fucking Pacific Ocean. _She calls me sweet, but she's giving me cavities herself. I'm so happy I said yes when she asked me to beta for her.

The (Many) Songs to Inspire Lemonward:

'Captivated' by Lady Gaga. Yes, a Gaga song, but don't be quick to deem it a poppy, stuttering hit. Piano and powerful voice, bbs, that's what this is.

'Neutron Star Collision' by Muse only makes sense, what with how much this story had to do with chemistry and the elements of individual atoms and their bonds. Plus, I love Muse, even when they make a song purely for a movie. *lifts eyebrow*

'Dreaming of You' by The Coral was also, oddly, a bit inspirational this time, the first verse especially so. The type of music isn't usually what I'd go for with a story, but for some reason it fit.

'Something Beautiful' by Need to Breathe fit very well with my characters this time. They are beautiful, as is the song. Quite honestly, it could be the song of the story. Take a listen to the lyrics, and you'll see exactly what I mean. It's so dead-on that it almost brought tears to my eyes when I realized how perfect it was.

'War in Your Bedroom' by A Change of Pace, please to be the sexing song for this time around.. IcelandGirl812 sprung it on me in a tweet and I had one of those torturous instant hot flashes. Peachward demanded he get a chance to claim Peachella to it. I had no desire to turn him down. It fueled, like, two hours of writing, on nonstop repeat.


End file.
